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Tricky Dick Nixon
Jul 26, 2010

by Nyc_Tattoo
Browsing the old bookstore, you happen upon a rather unusual seeming tome, bound of leather and string in a curiously anachronistic way. There is no embossing or title upon it, and the paper is cracked and yellowed. What lays inside is a bit much, some likely object of fantasy or a prank, all but confirmed when the book owner claims that there is a vagrant who comes and has been seen switching out fake books with real ones.

Yet… you find yourself taking it with you, and the store owner allows you to take it for free. It’s incredulous, and yet at the same time, oddly compelling.

After all, it’s only fantasy.


For some years I continued averse from elucidating upon this matter, deeming it so horrible that I shrank from recording it and ever withdrawing one foot as I advanced the other. To whom, indeed, can it be easy to write the announcement of the death-blow of all mortality, or who is he on whom the remembrance thereof can weigh lightly? O would that my mother had not borne me or that I had died and become a forgotten thing ere this befell! Yet, withal a number of my friends urged me to set it down in writing, and I hesitated long, but at last came to the conclusion that to omit this matter in the final telling could serve no useful purpose.

If there are yet peoples who can read this in our telling, perhaps past that starry mantle where surely there must be other intelligences, as we have studied and theorized for long, and I can only hope that life is not extinguished in this dark hour, so that you might listen.

We knew it not then, but now all the omens have become clear, and I shall list them, and it can scant be believed but we must arm you so that you might know the pronouncement when it comes upon you as well, as we had no such warning, but when Prophecy touched me, and I saw how it ended, we have been able to trace back and come to some conclusions from our historie, O that we could change it and have acted then! But that would deny our own responsibility, and culpability, in giving Evil the hand it needed.

Yea, for when the signs come up[on the conjunction of the twins, the crowning of the eclipse, the hidden constellation in the sky, or the burning comet screaming above, look for these Omens, and pronouncements of Doom.

… for when the sky falls and reflects Madness upon the world
… for when a Screaming comes across the sky that no one has ever heard
… for when those who had come Before looked to escape
… for when the land Burns like wroth in a man’s heart
… for when Children get lost in the wild, and as the wild they become
… for when great beasts became as Tyrants over men
… for when that which was dead Dreams once more
… for when the People turn against each other and themselves
… for when the Firmament cracks at the strain
… for when Magic returns to the world
… for when even Gods may fall
… for when even Kings may bow
… for when even Death may die

Know that Doom shall follow hence. Know these signs. Know this story, whomever you are,

For you are all that remains.

Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 12:12 on Apr 2, 2016

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Tricky Dick Nixon
Jul 26, 2010

by Nyc_Tattoo
Access the rules document here.
Access the OOC thread here.
Orokos.com Dice Roller
Action Tracker (courtesy of Valhawk)

Click here for Horror spreadsheet.
Click here for Character spreadsheet.
Click here for Mystery spreadsheet.

Overworld Map (Roll20) (click here to join)
Underworld Map (Roll20) (click here to join)

Whoa I didn’t sign up for a board game Im 12 and what is this-

Don’t worry, I will take care of most of it, though to save me the time and make posting movements less awkward I ask you folks take care of moving your agent, spy and force tokens on the board, which I will give you the permission to do.

There are a few special rules for terrain and features on the map, as well as a legend for the tokens and their meaning. Click here for the map key.


The Play is the Thing

Dice Roller: The syntax for rolling Fate dice Orokos.com is 4dF+bonus. Please use That Which Sleeps as the campaign for tracking purposes. Additionally, include your Action, Approach, and Intent, and Difficulty if you know it, in the description.

Game Time: After posting the start of a turn, you have loosely three days to get your actions in, usually about the time in between my days off. If you do not ask for an extension or give me a queue of actions to do on your behalf if you are going to be away, you are considered in slumber if you fail to get them in before I post the turn end. This isn’t a big deal, the system is designed to account for this, and more just to keep the game momentum going.

Narrative Time: In the game world itself, time is fluid and should only be important when its important to the story. Different players and even different characters the player controls can be working on different timeframes though overall everything goes forward, but I’m also totally fine with flashbacks and flashforwards and messing with the idea of time itself. Someone’s turn could be weeks of planning and effort, while another’s is wrapped up in a single terrifying minute. The only time people need to be on the save wavelength is during contests and combat.

Communication: You can always post outside of Turn Order to converse with PCs and NPCs, or use other methods to do that in more real time, so long as it connects to narrative time. However if you’re doing secret meetings or the like, still post it on the thread. We’re all adults here and if it didn’t happen in the thread, it didn’t happen at all. That being said, doing a flashback retroactively making a plot or conspiracy is perfectly fine too if you decide to go that route! You can even rewrite history a bit this way, so long as it’s narratively interesting.

Turn Order: There are four phases to every turn.

  • Discovery Phase: During this phase, you may move every agent, force, or spy you control, as well as a Stirring or Waking Horror and any Spawn you have created. You may move to any hex within two spaces, accounting for the terrain rules. If the hex landed on is a undiscovered hex, then you may roll for Creating Advantage to determine the feature aspect of that hex. This means the agent, force, or Horror/Spawn doing the exploration cannot take an action during Action Phase, however. You may choose to auto-fail instead so you can use them for something else, in which case I determine the aspects there-in. Spies are considered to not have an Approach and just make a straight roll with a +0 modifier. Remember that you can also eschew rolling to avoid possibly generating a mystery. The Narrator also makes all their movements. The Difficulty for discovery is base +0. Anything that is considered rough terrain is +1, and anything that is normally impassable is +2. Exploration in the Underworld is an additional +1. The following approaches reduce the Difficulty by -1: Awful is best at exploring broken lands and hills, Dreadful is best at exploring mountains and ice, Restless is best at exploring grasslands and open sea, Subtle is best at exploring farmland and forests, Uncanny is best at exploring strongholds, Leery is best at exploring underground, Weird is best at exploring underwater. Include any Discovery rolls when you post, either as part of or separately from your Action Phase, whatever is your preference. You will move your own tokens on the Roll20 board, so be sure to join the “games” and let me know who you are so I can set the tokens with the right permissions.
  • Action Phase: During this phase, you may take three actions. First, you may take a Horror Action, where you activate your Stirring or Waking Horror to take an action, or you may activate either with Aberrance or a prepared invocation any of the Horror’s aspects. You may always take an action within your Realm if you have one, and you may activate your Servitors after paying the initial cost for the rest of the age. Second, you may take a Cult Action, where you activate any Cult or Faction you control to take an action, either anywhere you lay Eyes for a Cult, or anywhere in a Faction’s zone of control. Finally, you may take an Agent Action, where you activate any Agent or Force you control to take an action, either on their own hex or any adjacent hex if an Agent. You do not have to do these actions in this order, nor do you have to take all three actions. Keep in mind that Eyes and Doom does not update until Upkeep. If you do not do anything during Action Phase, you are considered in slumber. Slumbering means you do not provoke a reaction phase from the Narrator. If your turn is skipped due to not getting your action in time, you are considered slumbering. If every Horror slumbers in a turn, the age ends. There is no specific order you need to take your three actions.
  • Reaction Phase: During this phase, the Narrator has their own actions, and gets a Reaction Phase for every Horror that takes at least one of their three actions. A Force Reaction is equivalent to an Agent Action, a Faction Reaction is equivalent to a Cult Action, and a Divine Reaction equivalent to a Horror Action. If you chose not to pick one of those three action types, there will not likely be its equivalent, but there will be exceptions. There are two more Reactions, however: The Alliance Reaction gives the forces of good an edge as alliances may be activated in addition to the previous. The Chosen Reaction is more special: If you have a Chosen tied to your Horror, then they always get an action as well, in addition to the Force Reaction. In addition, this phase covers when you Defend against the actions of other Horrors (or NPCs), and when you can spend Aberrance to offer them compels.
  • Upkeep Phase: During this phase, the Narrator updates all information with the results of the previous three phases. Eyes are laid (or lost), Doom is advanced (or retreated), Horrors are revealed (or occulted), Terror increases (or subsides), and Consequences assigned. Anything that involves these five things does not happen until the end of Upkeep. This is when your Awakening phase can change as well do to Doom changing, or Seals being broken. Consequences being assigned by the Narrator during upkeep is a change from RAW for Fate, you simply state what kind of consequences you want to take (mild, moderate, severe) and I take care of the rest. After three Upkeep Phases, mild consequences are removed.

Difficulty and Contests: Normally for uncontested actions it’s best if you are able to describe the action and outcome at once. Hit me up on IRC or other means for the Difficulty for a check you have in mind. You should tell me your approach and the circumstances, and any invocations you plan to take. I’ll usually give it to you. Very good posts with lots of smart play and clever use of the setting will get boosts as a bonus to compensate for not lowering Difficulty. Otherwise, I’ll describe the outcome during Reaction Phase. During a contested roll, the target who is Defending will take a Reaction Phase, and this can be done as part of or separately from their Action Phase. Taking an action to Defend yourself or contest another action started by another Horror does not count against your actions to take.

Combat: Whatever the intent, whether engaging in subversion, destruction, or investigation, combat does not end until someone Gives In or is Taken Out. Retreat is a form of Giving In. Each turn is an exchange, and you take damage as Stress or Consequences. Each Action Phase you can Attack, and each Reaction Phase you can Defend. You can have multiple combatants in a single hex and multiple Attacks, though while you can declare intent, the reacting party gets to choose who Defends, which is the advantage of having say Forces or the like defend Agents. No matter how many are involved, combat ends when someone is Taken Out or Gives In, though it can be rejoined later. Combatants cannot take movement during Discovery Phase, once they have joined the combat. When a Horror or its minions Give In, they avoid longer term consequences or being Taken Out, and you also gain a point of Aberrance as you say “Next time, Gadget! Next time!” though they must concede some advantage to the opponent, which usually manifests as a boost.

Aberrance: Remember that you can only spend one point of Aberrance each turn. This includes all four phases. If you want to offer a compel to a player, you should do it as a Reaction Phase, and only after they have taken their Action Phase.

Invocation: There are like a million aspects, and that’s overwhelming especially if you don’t have many Aberrance points to spend. That’s understandable, but aspects are very important for achieving higher difficulty actions, and you can use the create advantage action to gain free invocations. These invocations can be used by any of your minions or yourself, not just the one that created the advantage, within reason. Remember you can also use the Overcome advantage to eliminate situational aspects, which is to say any non-categorized, non-character aspects. You can use multiple invocations on a single action to inflate your pool, but remember each aspect can only be used once per action. I will not be keeping track of your invocations, BTW. That is the one thing I expect you folks to do. As well, free invocations expire at the end of an age.

Intelligence and Secrets: If you want to find seals, artifacts, places of power or uncover Secrets, the best way to get leads on how to do so is to gather rumors in the right places. This is one of the few Difficulties I am not going to give you, as it is always hidden. The Difficulty is based both of the amount of information of the locale, how appropriate it is to your question, and how obscure the knowledge you’re seeking is. You can also just gather rumors without specific intent for random story hooks and leads. You may also spend a point of Occult to automatically uncover a Secret, as well as get a free invocation on that Secret aspect.

Post Format: I’m not a huge stickler about this because I want you to express yourself in the way you are most comfortable, but there are a few things I want to establish as to what I expect and want to see.

First, your post should always have a heading. I have provided emblems for all the Horrors which gives a nice visual indicator beyond your SomethingAwful avatar of whom I’m reading about. You can include whatever you want in it, even using subheadings for each character you’re taking the perspective of, but that’s your choice, just needs the main heading to satisfy my obsessive-compulsion.

Second, you should also provide a summary of mechanically what you are doing in italics at the bottom of a post in the following basic format: My Horror Action is activating Orcus to Weirdly Create Advantage by summoning undead beasties that will help him terrorize a local town at hex U:02.45. My Agent Action is activating Tethras, my Necromancer, to Uncannily Create Advantage by creating corruption in that town which will stack the odds further in my favor at hex O:33.44. I will not be taking a Cult Action. You can dileate or organize further if you like but the basic idea of (phase)+(actor)+(approach)+(action)+(intent)+(location) should be followed, and you should mention when you are intentionally not acting as well. Even if the location is a bit more broad and not specifically targeting anything, it’s important for the possibility of a generated mystery.

Additionally, when recruiting a minion, I would like some information appended to the above mechanical summary. You should be specific who is recruiting this agent, and where the agent is being recruited. The same applies for Cults and Spies as well, but for them a name (in the case of the Cult) and a short description of what they are about will suffice, though more is always welcome. For agents this is the format they should always follow on recruitment:

pre:
(name), my (title/archetype/whatever)
Origin: (aspect)
(people/race)
(approaches)
Cyclical Evil: There are a lot of mechanics that encourage you to fail, like Giving In to gain Aberrance, the fact that you are encouraged to wake more than once and increase your approaches each time, and the need to retreat Terror when it gets too much. You should work with me to figure out a way that your Horror can be defeated in a satisfying but not complete way. This is not a game that you should always be a chessmaster always winning. A huge part of being evil is losing in an interesting way to the good guys. The fact is, especially at the beginning, you folks are extremely outgunned by the forces of the world, your only advantage is that they are unaware of you. Not everyone needs to be subtle, but don’t think your character and their aspects as static, they should transform each time their awakening aspect changes. A violent and brutal Horror who is defeated might become much more calculating and cold in their dormancy, before returning with an even greater strength. I hope that this approach is fun, because it’s unique for me and what appeals to me about a game like this.


Summary of Actions
If you are ever unsure what you can, or cannot do, with your actions, you can reference this list to better understand what constitutes an action.

    Dormant/Imprisoned Horrors can...
    - target agents, forces, cults, and powers they lay Eyes on.
    - must invoke an aspect when acting directly, or...
    -- if they have activated servitors this age, they may act through them again without cost.
    -- if the target is in their realm, they may act may act upon them without cost.
    - generate mysteries on a tie or failure.
    - recruit agents and cults.
    - create lesser horrors.
    - reclaim a lesser horror.
    - corrupt agents, forces, cults, powers and places of power.
    - subvert agents, forces, cults, and powers.
    - attack, overcome, or create advantage normally
    - destroy strongholds, seals, or places of power. Horrors are most effective at destroying places of power.
    - scry on a hex
    - can only be attacked through abjuration.
    - suffer three points of stress.

    Stirring/Waking Horrors can...
    - move two hexes on the map each discovery phase.
    - target agents, forces, cults, and powers they share a hex with. Waking Horrors can target factions when occupying one of their strongholds, and get a +2 bonus when targeting agents, forces, and cults.
    - may also target anything they lay Eyes on by invoking an aspect, or...
    -- if they have activated servitors this age, they may act through them.
    -- if the target is in their realm, they may act on them without cost.
    - everything described above for dormant/imprisoned Horrors.
    - use subterfuge to move unseen through zones of control.
    - acquire an unclaimed artifact or steal a claimed one.
    - can be attacked, even without abjuration.
    - suffer three points of stress.

    Agents can...
    - move two hexes on the map each discovery phase.
    - target agents, forces, cults and Stirring powers they share a hex with or are adjacent to. They suffer a -2 penalty to target forces, cults, and powers. Subverted heroes and villains do not suffer the -2 penalty to target forces or powers.
    - do not generate mysteries when taking actions.
    - investigate mysteries and use clues.
    - perform binding, warding, and abjuration.
    - use subterfuge to move unseen through zones of control.
    - recruit agents, cults, and spies.
    - corrupt agents, forces, cults, and places of power.
    - subvert agents, forces, and cults.
    - attack, overcome, or create advantage normally
    - search for rumors.
    - scry on a hex.
    - destroy strongholds, seals, or places of power. Agents are the least effective minions at destruction.
    - suffer one point of stress. Subverted heroes and villains have two boxes for stress.

    Notables and leaders can…
    - not move freely, they can only move to any stronghold connected to their current one by a route.
    - only be targeted if they have granted an audience aspect to the opposing party, gained with a create advantage action.
    - target agents, forces, cults and Stirring powers they share a hex with or are adjacent to. They suffer a -2 penalty to target forces, cults, and powers.
    - do not generate mysteries when taking actions.
    - cannot investigate mysteries, but can use clues.
    - perform binding, warding, and abjuration.
    - recruit agents, forces, and spies.
    - corrupt agents, forces, and cults.
    - subvert agents, forces, and cults.
    - attack, overcome, or create advantage normally
    - search for rumors.
    - scry on a hex.
    - choose their heir or recruit a new one if they are the leader.
    - name themselves a pretender if a notable and not the current heir.
    - start a civil war if they are a pretender when the leader is taken out.
    - raise a rebellion if they are a pretender, which turns them into a free moving agent until its conclusion.
    - suffer one point of stress. Subverted leaders have two boxes for stress.

    Forces can…
    - move two hexes on the map each discovery phase.
    - target agents, cults, and forces they share a hex with. They gain a +2 bonus to target agents.
    - target factions when they share a hex with a stronghold of theirs. They suffer a -2 penalty to target factions.
    - do not generate mysteries when taking actions.
    - cannot investigate mysteries, but can use clues.
    - perform binding, warding, and abjuration.
    - attack, overcome, or create advantage normally, but cannot recruit, corrupt, or subvert like agents and cults.
    - occupy a stronghold that has no opposing agents or forces within it, which flips control of it to the force’s faction (or patron power).
    - destroy strongholds, seals, or places of power. Forces are most effective at destroying strongholds.
    - suffer two points of stress.

    Cults can...
    - target agents, forces, and other cults anywhere their patron power lays Eyes on.
    - target factions when their patron power lays Eyes on one of their strongholds. They suffer a -2 penalty to target factions.
    - generate mysteries on a tie or failure.
    - cannot investigate mysteries, but can use clues.
    - perform binding, warding, and abjuration.
    - recruit agents, cults, and spies.
    - corrupt agents, forces, cults, and factions.
    - subvert agents, forces, cults, and factions.
    - attack, overcome, or create advantage normally
    - search for rumors.
    - scry on a hex.
    - destroy strongholds, seals, or places of power. Cults are most effective at breaking seals.
    - suffer two points of stress.

    Factions can...
    - target cults and forces in their zones of control (usually within 2 hexes of their strongholds.)
    - target other factions.
    - do not generate mysteries when taking actions.
    - cannot investigate mysteries, but can use clues.
    - perform binding, warding, and abjuration.
    - attack, overcome, or create advantage normally, but cannot corrupt, or subvert like agents and cults.
    - establish a stronghold within five hexes of another they control and not within 2 of another. This is a create advantage action and takes an age to complete or settle.
    - recruit a force or agent at one of their strongholds. Use the rules for recruiting an agent for recruiting a force as well.
    - suffer three points of stress.

Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 22:45 on Apr 19, 2016

Tricky Dick Nixon
Jul 26, 2010

by Nyc_Tattoo
Reserved for the Codex.

Tricky Dick Nixon
Jul 26, 2010

by Nyc_Tattoo

---

Maen
Mother of Madness, Patroness of Artists, Queen of Love, the Moon's Prisoner.
Maen turned her gaze, for just a moment, on hex O:30.41, through the smoke of the trade city of Orissa, which functions as the commercial backbone of the artisans and merchant guilds of Pashen, though it cannot aspire to the grandeur of nearby Vitrianata. There you will lay Eyes for the first age of the game whether you otherwise qualify for laying Eyes on that hex, to give you a starting point for your manifestation of Evil. The first mirror has been broken, and your attention is turned for a single maddening moment to the world below at this Pashen Thalassocracy, O Mother of Madness, and the stark contrast of the city's ugly nature only puts in relief what has been done. You have become the Doom of Pashen. Unleash your harbinger.
    Seals: The Seven Opuses of Lunacy
    The seals of Maen are manifest as mirrors that keep her enraptured in her own delusions and dream world, rather than turning her horrific attention to the world, trapped within a prison of her own design. However, should she turn away just long enough from them, and her terrible nature will become unleashed and the restless madness within will lash out and break one of the mirrors, before becoming enraptured by another. In order to draw her attention away from the mirror, her followers must inspire seven opuses of increasingly terrible madness. It is not simply enough to create a work of art that is magnificent and miraculous. It must be transgressive, it must be new, and it must irrevocably change and scar both the creator and those who gaze upon it forever. The first of eight mirrors has been broken, and there are seven to remain. In order to see this done, you must find the greatest or most unlikely of talents, and push them until they can be pushed no more, and off the very brink. You will leave them hollowed out and perhaps completely destroyed, but their work will find your attention for that crucial moment. It is not simply enough to raise up an artist or create a piece of art, though your cult will try. You must find people whose souls are naturally beautiful in themselves, and make sure they are twisted and destroyed by the end of it. Look for leads in centers of culture, among the exotic places of the world where novelty can still be found, and after great moments and acts of tragedy.

    Mystery: Shards of the Mirror (O:33.39)
    Outside the city of Silvadia in the Farusian jungles, there are great shards of reflective glass that stand amidst the trees. The locals say that they fell from the sky a few nights hence, falling from the night sky. Some believe these are sacred relics of Amunon, but the local oracles are mystified as they did not foresee it, and Amunon has been silent on the matter to their evocations.

    Mystery: Lady of Falsehood and Lunacy (U:53.30)
    In the deep and dark Shrine of Medhar, underneath the surface of Praxis, the blue ogres worship a goddess hated by the sun for her beauty, her cleverness and the gifts she gave to her people, who rules over madness and shadows and embodied in the False Moon. The Shrine is carved from obsidian, but the interior is marble, and there is a sanctuary where many sacred relics taken here by the Medhari when they were exiled from Agriyadh.

---

Skellington Jones
The Dead Man Rockin', the Noisemaker, the Greatest Unliving Musician this Side of the Bloody Veil.
Skellington Jones makes his landing at hex O:17.10, near the canticle city of Bytcina, one of the many temple-cities filled with church and choir-song that dot the cold grasslands of the Westron Expanse and the tundra of the Cold Bone. There you will lay Eyes for the first age of the game whether you otherwise qualify for laying Eyes on that hex, to give you a starting point for your manifestation of Evil. A terrific lick of electric mayhem breaks across the icy landscape, shattering ice and bringing with it avalanches down into the Frozen Sea, and the songs of devotion from the Marach Host are interrupted for just a moment, as the Greatest Unliving Musician this Side of the Bloody Veil arrives to start his tour. You have become the Doom of Qalath. Unleash your harbinger.
    Mystery: Disturbance of the Peace (O:20.10)
    There was a most terrifying and eerie sound that echoed across the Cold Bone and coast of the Frozen Sea, heard by peoples as far west as Breqathon and as far east as Thrallhold. Whatever made the sound is hard to say, but it caused the ice to crack and buckle, and an avalanche to fall into the sea. Some think it the work of a monster, while others think it a bad omen, but none know the horrible truth yet.

    Mystery: Whatever Happened to the Lyres from Mars? (O:20.25)
    The city of Nevarre is not as vaunted as Herapetra but occupies a similar place geographically and culturally, being a cultural melting pot and place where may stories and songs find themselves. A bard named Ioan has brought the story taught to him by his mother, who named him after the hero John o' the Lyre, a tale that is unfamiliar anywhere else, that tells of what happened to the bird that spread Idrian's message...

    Secret: An Unknown College (O:25.21)
    The Noisemaker starts with a lead via a mystery location for an unknown bardic college that his agents can investigate to uncover the Occult organization. It can be found on the border between Vendalia and Albigenses, where the trees not felled by Gesetaia can be found, and the Vendals raise great totem poles as both boundary markers and records of their exploits in the carved designs.

---

Hadremor
The Blue Scribe, the Wise, Whisperer of Secrets.
Hadremor turns his venerable sight upon hex O:06.31, where the arcane fortress of Amon Qor at the end of the Cliffs of Aroon dwells. There you will lay Eyes for the first age of the game, whether you otherwise qualify for laying Eyes on that hex, to give you a starting point for your manfiestation of Evil. The Blue Scribe finds itself where the Malketh themselves stood when they left this reality, and has found a new mystical movement threatening to use arcane secrets to change the eternally unchanging Abyssid Empire for themselves. You have become Abyssidia’s Doom. Unleash your harbinger.
    Mystery: Those That Remained (O:07.30)
    Hidden in the caves at the very ends of the Cliff of Aroon, there is remnants of a people that lived here long ago, recording something on the painting of the walls, about a great sign in the sky and a place that they were to go to, but turned away from. They seem to have been the same primordial people that lived long ago in the ruins across Ornassus, and in the oldest empire in the world, something more ancient sticks out quite a bit.

    Secret: Poles of the Earth (Various)
    The Whisperer of Secrets starts knowing the location of seven of the nine poles of the world, though nothing about the Demons that guard them. The seven poles you know of are located at the Demon Ocean (U:48.43), the Heart of Praxis (U:47.21), the Point of No Return (O:18.04), the White Sea (U:03.13), the Mogyar Headlands (U:05.24), the Fires of Aroon (U:06.33), and the Land of Nod (O:14.42).

---

Wrath
The Font of Strength, the Mountain Beneath the Earth, the Shaper, the Third Emotion.
Wrath will cause the ground to quake at hex O:43.38, where the ruins of Krete stand amidst smoke and old magic, the prison-city that rests at center of the Lost Isle. There you will lay Eyes for the first age of the game whether you otherwise qualify for laying Eyes on that hex, to give you a starting point for your manifestation of Evil. The Mountain Beneath the Earth has bode your time for ages, and now the time has come for power to come forth from the earth. Humanity encroaches further and further on this cursed isle, penetrating the veils left behind by his treacherous fellows. You have become the Doom of Krete. Unleash your harbinger.
    Seals: The Seven Shades of Wrath
    The seals of Wrath are manifest as aspects of Wrath that were divided from the whole, lessening the power of Wrath and creating instead a range of lesser horrors that would inflict their plagues upon the earth at a much more manageable level. The power of his anger was so great that the gods did not bother even facing him directly, instead turning the other more pliable emotions to him, and by dividing him into these shades of emotion away from the core, they changed the nature of Wrath such that he was not all-encompassing, for if all the shades were folded back into the source, the power of Wrath would be once again irrepressible. You have no idea what forms the shades will take, what their activities are, or where to find them. You only have their names and their essence, in succession of which was separated from your self: Frustration, Rancor, Dispassion, Vengeance, Bitterness, Rage, and Hatred. You must find them, and subsume them once more, or at least break the shackles that give them their current form regardless. Look for leads in places of great battles, amid conflict and simmering tension, and in the hearts of murderers.

    Mystery: Following the Scarlet Thread (U:40.39)
    One of the few mostly intact structures in Krete is not the cities on the surface, but the great labyrinth of Abynthu beneath the surface. Inhabited by troglodytes and perhaps beholders, it is horribly dangerous, but in the labyrinth lays a red thread that leads to somewhere in the center, perhaps some kind of treasure or artifact. Spelunkers from Dhymandsai exploring the shoals and caves have found the labyrinth, even if they have not crossed the straits to the Lost Isle itself, and came back with wild stories about what could be within.


The Lady in the Woods
The Bereaved, "Momma."
The Lady of the Woods turns her grief-stricken gaze to hex O:27.12, on the edge of the Inaba Forest bordering the Shrine of Dhoad and the city of Cuothr. There you will lay Eyes for the first age of the game whether you otherwise qualify for laying Eyes on that hex, to give you a starting point for your manifestation of Evil. The Bereaved finds the children of the Cradish people in the Verdurous Republic wander willingly through this reflection of her own dark woods, and their laughter has drawn her attention now, after so many years of watching at the very edge. You have become the Cradle’s Doom. Unleash your harbinger.
    Mystery: The Lost Child (O:26.14)
    Occasionally, Cradish children will go missing for a few days, and then turn back up just fine. Sometimes, they have to be collected, but the forest is trusted to protect them, and when a child is truly lost, it is seen as simply a fact of nature, and though they remembered, it is part of their way of life that one learns to survive as they must. However, this is not a Cradish child that is lost. The young son of the Marchion of Crent was lost when he was coming back across the forest paths from Vestorias and staying in the town of Mawre. This has inflamed already high tensions, and the Chancellor has made it known that any who find the child will be properly rewarded.

---

Zarkai
Last and Greatest Tyrant, Champion of Praxis, Eater of Monkeys.
Zarkai turns his sharp reptilian gaze to hex U:49.26, where the ruins of Etranoxx, the ancient Tyrant capital in the depths of the Praxian Jungles, rests in shambles under the shade of his ziggurat. There you will lay Eyes for the first age of the game whether you otherwise qualify for laying Eyes on that hex, to give you a starting point for your manifestation of Evil. For the first time in centuries, the Champion of Praxis’s slumber is disturbed by the presence of lesser beings, as a clutch of lizardfolk have by chance or design found this lost city, the first to do so since the Primordial Epoch, and the Praxian Tribes have begun to flourish again as the influence of mortals recedes with the falling of the Silver Kingdom. You have become Doom of Praxis. Unleash your harbinger.
    Mystery: Bones of Tyrants (O:48.24)
    The city of Otelaxx is filled with the bones of creatures far unlike anything that remains on the world, as if it was a funerary or gravesite. At the same time, there are signs of something else too, of bodies piled high and in unusual places. They are oddly preserved, and allow one with the knowledge to discern these primordials were nothing like the lizardfolk known today, or the peoples that live in Ornassus that have been studied by some scholars.

---

Auluudh
The Lurker Beneath, the Third King of the Cold Dark, the Great Old, He who takes minds freely, the Star-Seeker
Auluudh and his dreaming sight comes to hex U:35.30, within the abandoned aboleth capital of Hathaatuanth at the bottom of the Watery Abyss. There you will lay Eyes for the first age of the game, whether you otherwise qualify for laying Eyes on that hex, to give you a starting point for your manifestation of Evil. The Lurker Beneath finds his dreams and slumber interrupted by the coming of bright lights in the perfect darkness, of the lanternfolk that have begun to spread over the old dominion as the Medusae Swarm. You have become Stheno’s Doom. Unleash your harbinger.
    Mystery: Canyon of Corpses (U:43.32)
    The merrow believe that the Tower of Filth inhabits the deepest waters, and toss their dead as sacrifices to the depths. The aboleth fortress of Ngotlelzh is one of the most intact structures outside of the Hathaatuanth, and unlike the great city it lacks the same affectations of the ileth, the Sunken Ones. Though buried under the cartilage and filth of the merrow, the city here is truly alien in a way that would cause many scholars who associate all of the ruins of the Watery Abyss with the ileth to give pause.

---

Ministry of Reality
The Men in Grey, The Department of Law, None-Such Beings, Section i, The Spaces between Spaces, The Cunning Men
The Ministry has turned its malevolent gaze to hex O:29.21 located at the high elven city of Waethai. There you will lay Eyes for the first age of the game, whether you otherwise qualify for laying Eyes on that hex, to give you a starting point for your manifestation of Evil. The None-Such Beings, drawn by the heavy influence of the First Life here, sense this very influence just beneath the surface, motivated as well by a seething distaste for the terrible chaos and expression of life within Sarnath. You have become Sarnath’s Doom. Unleash your harbinger.

---

Mar'arr'nenkeshet
The Formless One, The Gnasher of Teeth, The Creeping Maw, The Endless Plain of Writhing Flesh and Eyes and Bone
Mar'arr'nenkeshet pushes his sight through deepening cracks upon hex O:20.44 located at Baori Oasis in the Great Desert. There you will lay Eyes for the first age of the game, whether you otherwise qualify for laying Eyes on that hex, to give you a starting point for your manifestation of Evil. The Creeping Maw finds itself seeping into a bubbling font of life, yet surrounded by barren desert unconducive to its nature. Struggle however is the core of Life. You have become Agriyadh's Doom. Unleash your harbinger.

---

Lozeth Lorgonith
The Power Profound, the Great Annihilator, the Rewriter of All, the Crystal God, the Final Peace, Magic Incarnate.
Lozeth Lorgonith will come to cognizance upon hex O:05.02, the far northron range of the Spine of the World, where their fortress-prison of Ibyz Vortizh lingers hidden from the sight of mortals at the highest peak, and casts a long shadow over the frontier settlement of Venthethal. They feel the extensions of your self extend all through the Crystal Caverns beneath the surface, but such magnificence has been interrupted by the mining of the crystals as a power source by the perverse Seltvar Dominion who use it to power thaumaturgical devices, while mortals of the Northron Frontier blast the rock with new-found niter explosives, looking for riches. When they imprisoned the Crystal God here, what was though so inhospitable only magic could sustain one to live here, they should have imagined the folly of men would bring them here once more, where the Wizard Lords or Sorcerer Kings or whatever it was that ruled these lands came to in their march against Heaven, far from the eyes of southron mortals. You have become the Doom of the North. Unleash your harbinger.
    Seals: The Seven Facets of the Power Profound
    The seals of Lozeth Lorgonith bind them to Ibyz Vortizh as both master of magic and slave to it, and restrain the Crystal God's power to only their isolated spire of the world, isolated even now behind Occult and magic. When the Wizard Lords, with the aid of the Cerulean Sign, bound Lozeth Lorgonith to this mountain fortress as their prison, they did not place all their hopes into a single binding. Each of the seven Wizard Lords carved out of Lozeth Lorgonith's soul of magic a part of its essence, which manifested into a crystal now called a facet. The seven Wizard Lords, working independently of each other and the Cerulean Sign so as to keep the secrets secret, went all across the world and established themselves in hermitage. Some were driven mad by their facets, some resisted the lure. Some may have become lost or stolen by external forces, some may still be guarded by the Wizard Lord that took it with them in terrible Un-Death. Each must be shattered in order to return part of the soul of magic back to its source. Look for leads among the remaining wizard covenants, in isolated places and mountains, and among remnants of the Cerulean Sign.

    Mystery: Work Hazards (U:04.04)
    Something has changed in the crystal mines of the salt dwarves. The crystals themselves seem to be growing faster, which delights the taskmasters, but the thralls have started to sicken and die, dehydrating. Husks of thralls have been found in isolated parts of the mines, and it seems that where they fall, crystals grow out of their body with a deep crimson hue and a bright glow, but they so far have shattered at handling. Some Seltvar are quite perplexed and intrigued at this new development, but as a whole have not noticed beneath the increase in production.

    Mystery: A Noble's Acquisition (O:32.12)
    An eccentric Vestorian noble by the name of Pascio d'Baxil has ordered a shipment from the far flung northron frontier, of crystals collected from the formations that have begun to grow around the settlement of Venthethal. While he is of no great scholar, he is quite enamored of them, and whispers to them dotingly like one would plants they are tending, and his "garden" is perhaps only the start of a collection that fills the lower study of his urban estate in the capital of Vesten.

    Secret: An Unknown Cloister (O:23.12)
    The Rewriter of All starts with a lead via a mystery location for an unknown wizard covenant that his agents can investigate to uncover the Occult organization. A great arcane power can be felt in the sleep coastal town of Runsefels in the south of the Heath, hidden behind a veneer of cultivated normalcy.

---

יְהוּדָה, אולי,אין זה משנה
The God Eater, the Arch Traitor, the Sire of the Eternal Cult, They expressed in ideas, not words.
The Arch-Traitor gathers conspirators at hex O:23.34, in the refugee city of Haven, a glorified shanty town on the coast of the Starfall Sea protected by the Sarcis Badlands in part and somewhat isolated from the slaving raids of the blood elves and red ogres. There you will lay Eyes for the first age of the game whether you otherwise qualify for laying Eyes on that hex, to give you a starting point for your manifestation of Evil. A church of stone burns to the insane design of its prelate, threatening to engulf the town in flames, and called by this sacred act of betrayal the first seal is broken, and the Sire of the Eternal Cult finds himself among not the traitors but the betrayed, the Exiles of Nod. You have become the Doom of Nod. Unleash your harbinger.
    Seals: The Seven Motifs of Treason
    The seals of Arch-Traitor keep the machine of betrayal at bay, jamming the cycle after it is inevitably self-betrayed, and has kept the being from truly grasping onto the world and perverting the design of the Divine. It always ends like it begins, with the high priest burning down the church, but this being the church of the betrayal, as the Eternal Cult betrays itself and consumes itself, unless you can break your own cycle, but do you even want to, They expressed in such ideas, and not so many words? Now a crazed prelate burns down his church, and with it nearly the entire town it is part of, and the cycle begins anew. There are seven more motifs that must be expressed if the Arch Traitor is to be manifest again on the world. Each one surrounds a symbol of authority and reverence, and starts with religion but ends not there. Each symbol needs to not simply be destroyed, but subverted in an arcane plot or drama play that has already been decided before. You know these motifs already, Arch-Traitor, you must simply find the symbols. Look for leads among the capitals and shrines of the world, within the cults of other horrors, and within the hearts of betrayers and betrayed.

    Mystery: Priesthood of the Disappeared (O:20.35)
    The Shrine of Nogad has been abandoned for generations, and fallen into disrepair. It must have once had a priesthood, as it was built, and was maintained over many ages until one day the priesthood, and any record of them, simply disappears from the record. The Aittic initiates end their pilgrimage at this site, but to actually step into the temple grounds or change anything is strictly forbidden, and those who do often disappear, said to be eaten by monsters.

    Mystery: Apochryphal Texts (O:29.11)
    In the great libraries of the cathedral city of Orcades, maintained by bishops and cardinals serving under the flamines and vestals of the Rainbow Pontifex, there is a hidden section called the Apochrypha, which contain older histories and texts about the Third God War, recently suppressed due to theological conflict between the House of Adjustment and House of Piety that was finally put to rest by simply sealing the documents away, but they remain there in their preserved cases, waiting to be read.

---

Tign
The King of Kings, the Beautiful Tyrant, the Master, Majesty Unleashed.
Tign sends whispers from hex O:17.17, over the mountain that shields his majestic palace beneath the earth, hidden away in a corner that only dwarves could find. He finds himself overlooking with newfound extended perceptions the Openhand Pass of the Golden Mountains. There you will lay Eyes for the first age of the game whether you otherwise qualify for laying Eyes on that hex, to give you a starting point for your manifestation of Evil. After hundreds of years being trapped alone in his prison, the sound of worship returns for the Beautiful Tyrant as he has perverted the elder race of the Aurumi into his servitors, and now his eyes and ears they bring you word that the land he once ruled as sorcerer-king has been fruitful indeed, birthing the Grand Duchy of Pretonia, whose magnificence will pale simply by being in the the shadow of the King of Kings. You have become the Doom of Pretonia. Unleash your harbinger.
    Seals: The Seven Descendants of Alon
    The seals of Tign bind him to the Golden Palace buried beneath the earth where no man has gazed for generations, and ensure the King of Kings's majesty is trapped where none can gaze upon it and such that it does not travel the world. When the monk Alon, last of his order, with the aid of the Cerulean Sign, bound Tign to this buried palace as your prison, like all curses it came with a condition, and he paid the price with his blood. These primal ritual means that his blood still carries it today, as part of the enchantment worked with the power of his mind and the magic of the ritual, some strange sorcery not attempted before and not since. It is sustained by his mercy, as he chose not to strike Tign down, but spare him, and this mercy means that his descendants hold the possibility to alleviating the curse if they can be convinced to say the magic words: "You knew not what you had done." The only caveat is that they must be said mostly willingly, and not simply by using them as a puppet making the sounds. The words must come from the blood and soul, though forcing it by torture or trickery is just as valid, as that is some form of "willing", but the power of Prophecy will protect these seven. Look for leads among the remaining psionic cloisters, in old histories and genealogies, and among remnants of the Cerulean Sign.

    Mystery: The Tarnish of Gold (U:14.16)
    When the Angvar claimed Undun, they were alarmed to find the fortress of their old enemy the gold dwarves completely deserted, though mostly intact. They have sent some expeditionary parties, but have found no trace of the Aurumi, and have hesitated to march on Argushar, as explorers have returned saying they have seen glittering eyes in the dark, and terrible spirits haunt the ruins of a city that seemed to have been destroyed from within, as if the gold dwarves went made and destroyed themselves. The oligarchs sit upon this information, far more concerned with other matters like the spreading fungal bloom to do much about it.

    Mystery: Old Man's Fable (O:10.29)
    Near a mountain monastery in Ertacia, an old monk begging for coin gazes blindly on the world but smiling with a beatific sort of smile, telling a young shepherd boy a story about a brave man that stood up for what was right when everyone else obeyed the crown because that was what was done, and in the end showed mercy, which turned everyone against the tyrant. The shepherd boy told it to his friends who told it to their fathers and inflamed hatred towards the despot in Mons, but the root of the story runs much deeper, and what else do the monks on the mountain know?

    Secret: An Unknown Cloister (O:23.12)
    The King of Kings starts with a lead via a mystery location for an unknown psionic cloisters that his agents can investigate to uncover the Occult organization. It can be found on a lonely peak of the White Mountains, not far from the Cradish capital of Aendar Cuar, but isolated by the mountains enough that it is perfect for a life of monastic solitude, and the old home of the monastery you leveled in your quest to destroy the Order of the Moth.

---

Ahiram
The Man Of Iron and Bronze, He Who Stared Death In The Face, That Which Knows No Limits, the Longing For Perfection, the Unbridled Ambition, the Spiked Freak
Ahiram has returned to hex O:19.26, to the ruined keep of Hiram's Landing, a ruin filled with smelter smoke and choking poison at the edge of the Straits of Mortalia in the broken lands therein, where the legendary hero Hiram crossed from the north into the south. There you will lay Eyes for the first age of the game whether you otherwise qualify for laying Eyes on that hex, to give you a starting point for your manifestation of Evil. The Man of Iron and Bronze come to the place of his birth, to complete the cycle in full after his escape from Hell, and his forging new and betters parts has poisoned the air further, distracting him perhaps from the rise of his old homeland, now pre-eminent among the Palladic City-States without his guidance. You have become the Doom of Herapetra. Unleash your harbinger.
    Mystery: The Son of Hiram (O:14.16)
    His name is not spoken, and all but forgotten. The statue of him the harbor was recarved by a lesser sculptor than he into the likeness of clever Peragos. His name was stricken from the records of princes of Herapetra. Herapetra has changed greatly since the days he still... lived, but it is still a city that knows him, and hidden behind defaced monuments, worn out bas reliefs, and otherwise are clues to this son spoken of only in curses.

    Mystery: Shadow of the Pyramid (O:11.40)
    The Black Pyramid has been a forbidden place for as far as anyone can remember, and from its very inception it was a defiled place, with thousands of souls and bodies still likely bound to it beneath the basalt stone. These souls should have been recollected by the spirit of Death, or the gargoyles of Hell, yet the Un-Dead linger here, and whisper a name that can barely be discerned in the haunting dreams of sailors on passing ships, daring they come to the pyramid.

---



pre:
                    PROPHECY: 00 | TERROR: 00
MAEN:     Doom 00 | Aberrance 03 | Refresh 02 | Occult 13 | Imprisoned
JONES:    Doom 01 | Aberrance 05 | Refresh 04 | Occult 07 | Stirring
HADREMOR: Doom 00 | Aberrance 04 | Refresh 03 | Occult 10 | Dormant
WRATH:    Doom 00 | Aberrance 03 | Refresh 02 | Occult 13 | Imprisoned
BEREAVED: Doom 00 | Aberrance 05 | Refresh 04 | Occult 07 | Stirring
ZARKAI:   Doom 00 | Aberrance 04 | Refresh 03 | Occult 10 | Dormant
AULUUDH:  Doom 00 | Aberrance 04 | Refresh 03 | Occult 10 | Dormant
MINISTRY: Doom 00 | Aberrance 04 | Refresh 03 | Occult 10 | Dormant
MAR'ARR:  Doom 01 | Aberrance 04 | Refresh 03 | Occult 10 | Dormant
LOZETH:   Doom 00 | Aberrance 03 | Refresh 02 | Occult 13 | Imprisoned
TRAITOR:  Doom 01 | Aberrance 03 | Refresh 02 | Occult 13 | Imprisoned
TIGN:     Doom 00 | Aberrance 03 | Refresh 02 | Occult 13 | Imprisoned
AHIRAM:   Doom 00 | Aberrance 05 | Refresh 04 | Occult 07 | Stirring

Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 12:13 on Apr 2, 2016

Shogeton
Apr 26, 2007

"Little by little the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him"


Maen
Mother of Madness, Patroness of Artists, Queen of Love, the Moon's Prisoner.

The skies above Orissa weren't clear very often. Smoke from its workshops would often cloud the night's sky. But there were more... refined areas of the city. Not quite the best villas, but far enough away to escape the smells and the noises, and far out enough to have a nice view of the night's sky, with the full moon shining overhead. Olufemi was gazing up at it, holding his eighth drink, standing unsteady on his feet.

The remnants of his official unveiling of his new painting had been today. It had been a success, even if several of the people had been gotten emotional at the painting and had excused themselves. But there had been mountains of praise, and a lot of commission requests. Even his father had admitted he was wrong about his art career when he looked at some of the numbers.

His father..

Olufemi looked at the painting again and took another drink. He'd hoped that immortalizing the pair would have given him some relief. That he'd voice what he had hidden. But looking at it, the courage, the love of the ones he'd painted only reminded himself of his own cowardice. How he'd let father just sell her. How he hadn't even went to see her a last time, because he was afraid what he might do or say. And now, he was gaining success over it while Galaia was.... she was... elsewhere. He emptied his glass again, and staggered to the couch to get the bottle, only finding it empty. Falling on the couch, he considered calling for the slave to bring him another one, but he didn't find the energy, slowly dropping to fall asleep.

And as the night advanced, moonlight would fall through the window and shine on the painting and Olufemi's face. And he dreamed.

He dreamed of the picture. Filling his vision, but it seemed... so much more vibrant. The colors were so bright and moving his eyes stung, but it made the picture all the more alive. He could smell the salt of the harbor and the fresh blood and tears. He could hear the pained whimper from Meriash as the sword pierced him. He could feel the blade pierce him. He could feel the blade in his hands. He tried to scream but no sound from his throat could be heard over the beauty of what he saw. He needed to look away. He couldn't look away. He couldn't think, all thoughts just scattering all around him, everywhere. He was at the edge of what a man could take.

And then he thought he heard a sound behind him. A high, clear tinkling like breaking glass. And a part of him, a part that still valued his life, his sanity, his humanity begged him to not look back. To just accept these visions were greater than him and fall into darkness and wake up with a hangover.

And he looked back.

And looked straight into the eyes of a Goddess. Her whole aspect pale blue, along with those eyes that were deep, loving and oh so, very mad. And he thought he made a whimpering sound as her lips moved an ever slight bit in a smile. He felt things cracking. He felt hid mind pushed off that edge. He would fall to his knees but no move could be made. There were flashes in his mind, scattered little shards of memories and emotions with no rhyme or reason thrown across his helpless mind. Blasphemous truths and maddening visions. She had been betrayed, sealed by the one she loved. He had cried/laughed/looked away in shame/not shown any emotion as he did it!

She was the Queen of Gods!

She had given humanity Art, and she had taken from them Love, and in the exchange, Madness had been sown in both of them.

It was beautiful, it was terrible. And for it, she was sealed.

He saw the mirrors, arrayed around her throne, one of them in shatters, some of the fragments flying upwards, some of them laying on the ground there. One broken, seven whole. And in a terrible moment, he knew what he must do. Tears and drool and snot ran down his face and he just nodded at that blue face. And she saw it, and then, seemed to be drawn to something in the mirror, and she gasped as her eyes than were fixed on one of those hateful surfaces again.

And then Olufemi awoke, stone cold sober, looking up as a cloud appeared in front of the moon. He staggered upright, his whole body shaking. He gazed around the dark room, and his eyes encountered a mirror himself. He saw his figure, lean, dressed in disheveled but fine silks, his hair in the fashionable colors showing off against his dusky skin. He hated that image, there, that weak figure who worried about family name and how to make a living while there was Love. And he hated that mirror which was mutely and stupidly copying what was there. "STOP IT!" He yelled at it. And he might have looked drunk, but he knew he wasn't drunk, he knew what was with him now was with him forever and maybe he should be worried but he was a lot surer now and maybe not happier but he wasn't the coward he was and the mirror just kept looking at him and he just rushed at it and slammed his fists against it and it shattered and it reminded him what he had to do and some of the shards cut him and bled but it only made him more awake. And he looked around and he saw all the other artwork he'd shown to all the self-important people with all their stupid commissions and what was it doing hanging in the same room as a painting that had drawn the attention of a GODDESS and he grabbed a shard and cut his hand and he went to all the paintings and he was laughing because it was funny as he sliced through the canvas and ran his bloody palms over it and maybe he should sell it like this and that was even funnier and so he laughed an once he started laughing he just laughed harder because this whole scene was so funny and...

"Olufemi, what are you doing?"

He looked, and his father was standing there, looking displeased and concerned at the mess. And Olufemi seethed as he looked at him, and remembered how he'd said he was getting too attached to the slavegirl and how he was selling 'it', he'd called her 'it' and how he hadn't even gathered the courage to do more than the weakest of protests and how pathetic he had been and it was because this man and how could he be worthy to serve HER if he didn't do something about that and the shards of the mirror were bloody in his hand and maybe he should kill him and then he was suddenly moving and his father stopped babbling and screamed and it took a long time because the shards kept breaking before they could really hit a good place but he nicked a few good veins and there was a lot of blood and his father started slowing down and maybe he should make a painting of this, oh no he'd have way too much to do to bring her, but maybe she would see this. Yes, a sacrifice, that was a good idea, he'd sacrifice him. He'd place the shard against his father's jugular, seeing the fear in the man's eyes, but then he looked out of the window where the moon was and he shouted the name as he cut and the blood spurted like red paint.

"MAEN!"

But there was no reaction, none at all. Those mirrors must still hold her eyes and he wept, wept bitter tears on his father's corpse that he could not draw those divine eyes to him again.

"Master, young master?" A voice came from the door, and a thirty something man of a very mixed bloodline looked into the room, about thirty something, with unpainted hair. Looking at the scene, his eyes grew first large, then hard. "Ah, I see."

Olufemi didn't have the energy right now If killing his father didn't get Her attention, then fighting a slave wouldn't, and he felt weak and Glasan, the head-slave of the household was a lot stronger than his father. He started saying something but it was mostly sobs and some apologies and talking about Her but he couldn't really find words anymore and he didn't think he was very clear.

"Don't worry, master. I'll go get someone to look after your injuries and go to bed again. Please just let me handle the mess. It's what I do best."

At hex O30; 41, Maen is using her Free Harbinger Evocation to Dreadfully Recruit a Minion. Difficulty -1. Recruit an Agent: 4dF+4 4 So a success with style, he gets three approaches and 1 free Boost. (his father's inheritance)
Edit: For clarification later. I could not actually get the +2 from the Invoke since I'm using it to do this action, so that was only a 2, but still a success with Style.
Olufemi, The Artist
Origin: Tormented Painter
Pashen
Restless: +3
Uncanny: +2
Dreadful: +2


(following up with an agent action later to recruit a cult, but wanted to get this up already)

Shogeton fucked around with this message at 00:21 on Apr 3, 2016

Yami Fenrir
Jan 25, 2015

Is it I that is insane... or the rest of the world?

The Lurker Beneath, the Third King of the Cold Dark, the Great Old, He who takes minds freely, the Star-Seeker

Boost: Assuming Direct Control (Merrow #1)



The time to act has come. Too long have I remained slumbering. Now, my gaze falls to the very place in which I remain sleeping. Hathaatuanth. No longer what it used to be, like so many things. It's many facilities, in disrepair. This... will not do.

It will be returned to it's former glory.

But, first things first. Before all of this can happen, I need servants. Servants that do not sleep when I do. The Medusae are... interesting, and most likely moldable, but the merrow are more influental. Therefore, they must be dealt with first... Naturally, it's most easy to influence a People as one of their own. So, one of them will soon see me as their true lord.

Extending my mind, I scan my surroundings for any merrows close be - if there's anything one can count on - if there's a forbidden place, some foolhardy idiot will try to explore it, after all... and once I find one...

They will be the very first, insignificant step towards the return of my kin.


At hex U:36.30, Auluudh weirdly recruits a mininon. Difficulty: (?)
Weirdly Recruiting some poor Merrow (using the free invoke): 4dF+4 7 (This is +2 from Weird and +2 from the free invoke, not sure about any other modifiers.) Really is a 5 because of the invoke being used for an action.

Assuming a +7 means it's a success with style, so:
Merrow #1 (I'm sure he has a name, Auluudh just can't be bothered to learn it)
Origin: Merrow Seeker
Starfall Clutch Merrow
Approaches:
Weird +2
Leery +3
Subtle +2
Has Boost: Assuming Direct Control.

Yami Fenrir fucked around with this message at 14:48 on Apr 7, 2016

Theantero
Nov 6, 2011

...We danced the Mamushka while Nero fiddled, we danced the Mamushka at Waterloo. We danced the Mamushka for Jack the Ripper, and now, Fester Addams, this Mamushka is for you....

Mar'arr'nenkeshet

An oryx was kneeling on the shores of an oasis, cooling itself in the almost bearable heat of desert twilight. A rock lobster leered curiously at the lapping tongue, its simple arthropod brain considering but for a moment whether or not to grab the undulating appendage, trying to figure out if it was a possible threat or maybe even food. Eventually it decided the better of it, and retreated slightly deeper, content digging the sands for smaller beings to consume. In this task it proved woefully inadequate. In the blink of an eye, the lobster vanished beneath the bottom sands, leaving behind nothing but a slight twirl of slowly setting sand in the tranquil waters.

Secrets of Shell and Claw and Gill we know these Secrets we have them and sing the notes.

The oryx, for its part, was far too invested in its drinking to pay attention to squabbles beneath the surface, certain that such things concerned it not. In this, it would prove to be very wrong. At lightning speed, a trashing tentacle of deep crimson shot from beneath and curled itself around the mammal's neck, dragging it beneath even before the animal had any time to cry out in distress. It trashed and kicked its limbs as it was dragged ever deeper, synapses firing in chaotic, confused panic. Every fiber in its adrenaline filled body, every nerve in its simple mind was struggling to find any possible way to survive. And that was when it could feel something pierce its clouded mind. A message, not of words or of abstract concepts, but formed of the language universal to all life. It was an offer for Life, and a message of Truth. And in that moment the oryx finally stilled in submission, for it knew it would be safe forever more, even though its body was dissolved and turned a part of the whole.

Secrets of Drought and Speed and Horn we know them they make good notes that fit our Song.

The Feast had begun in earnest.

______________________________________

Jacob was on the run, the dry desert air burning his lungs even as the cold glow of the moon chilled him to the bone. His escape had been a split second decision. He had seen his opening, and had taken it without a thought: a shovel to the back of the head of his Aghissi master, and a mere four miles to the Oasis. But on the way, doubt had begun to set in. Where would he go exactly? He had no money, no food. No place to call home, or any friends or family from his tribe to call upon. He was alone and with no prospects. With a slowly growing, clammy feeling in his chest, Jacob was quickly coming to the conclusion that he had made the worst decision in his entire life. The life of a slave was cruel drudgery true, but it beat dying, at least in his mind. He kneeled in front of the oasis, desperate to relieve his parching throat. As he shoveled water into his mouth, his eyes started to wet with his increasing desperation.

What would he do? He didn't want to die.

Jacob wanted to leave, but could not move. He realized he had no clue where to continue. A tear impacted the surface of the water. Another. Jacob collapsed, reduced to a weeping mess. But then, he saw something with his blurry eyes. Something shifting beneath the waters. Idle curiosity was soon replaced by utter terror as a mass of tendrils grabbed him by the legs, arms, throat and waist and dragged him under. Jacob was in utter panic now. What was happening, why was it happening, why him?

Why did he have to die, he did not want to die, not like this. His tears mixed with the cool oasis waters as he desperately clawed for life. At that moment, panicked and distraught, he would have done anything, given anything or grasped any straw to get a second chance at life.

Those that know the Truth of Life need not perish we know the Truth you may know also but you must submit do so and you may live.

It was not a sound, not even something that could be described as a language. It was something that Jacob felt, a strange cacophonous feeling of wholesale understanding, which would have been extremely disturbing if not for his current circumstances. But right then, right there, it might as well have been a choir of Angels. With all his heart, and all his mind, Jacob stopped resisting, and gave himself to his new savior.

...

The morning was not far away now, the stars of the Eastern horizon gradually starting to fade.

Jacob opened his eyes with a gasp and stood up with a startle. He was on the edge of the Oasis, at the place where he had stopped to drink during his escape. Yes, his escape. Something that had filled him with dread not long ago, but something that he saw the wisdom in now. He had gained his freedom. He was afraid no longer. And no longer was he uncertain. Now he had purpose. Now he had Life.

Something writhed under Jacob's skin, and then settled.

You are us now and we are you and together we shall Sing now and forever.

______________________________________


Horror Action
At hex O:20.44, Mar'arr'nenkeshet Restlessly recruits an Agent by suddenly dragging him under and using his panic to convince him. Difficulty: (0)
Restlessly Recruiting an escaped Noddite slave (using the free invoke): 4dF+3 4
Success with Style!
Name: Jacob (slave name, last name taken)
Origin: Slave Escapee
Approaches:
Restless +3
Awful +2
Dreadful +2
Boost: A helping tentacle (a little direct help from Mar'arr'nenkeshet itself)

Theantero fucked around with this message at 23:29 on Apr 2, 2016

Trollhawke
Jan 25, 2012

I'LL GET YOU THIS YEAR! EVEN IF I SAID THIS LAST YEAR TOOOOOO
God I love the smell of salty succubi in the morning

A page from the diary of the God Eater, The Arch traitor, They expressed in ideas, not words, I know you tried to read this - written on Three by the river/The limbs of the fourth/Delerium.

Like all good things, my time in this realm began with something being on fire. I'll admit, for a moment I thought I had been set ablaze myself -as it so happens, it appears this version of... whatever I've become can see what occurs around it from the smoke. It follows me like a bad sin, inescapable for even a moment, but it seems ultimately harmless. I do wonder, however - perhaps in another life I relied on smoke signals? Perhaps fire was my domain? In any case, I can see. I can see this strange, dammable... awfully familiar realm before me.

And within that realms, I find a group of interest where what seems to be the smoke's eye lays to rest - more like a ragtag group in a small town, but there's potential here. I wonder how many can/wiltwill be willing to return home. I will watch this colony for now, though - I have been lucky enough to find a hook into this realm, and it is one potentially filled with hate. Speaking of hatred, I should attempt to learn more about the other dark powers surrounding this realm - their experience will be very helpful.

A final note: it turns out godlike power does not produce godlike spelling. Work on ficin fixing that.

closing the diary, The god eater leered into the smoke at a poor, crying soul. A meal, perhaps? An entertainer by force, rather than choice? Or perhaps...
...
"Well this is interesting. A former servant of I admit, I forgot the name of that god - one of the upper echolons? I remember dislike, but why?, whose god let their lover die in the fire of the first church... Do I smell an oppurtunity for a three-in-one? Now if I remember, the way they did it was to focus on the misfortune, drive it to the forefront...Twist the messages and the truth...Drown them in the failure of their supposed friends, let it SPREAD, DROWN THEM IN NOTHING BUT THE FAILURE OF THEIR ALLIES, and let them - let me - claim this one's loyalty."

And so as the human cried in desperation, he turned to the stars. Away from the gods he once knew, away from the sky he once lived under - there must be something else. Something that will listen, something that will allow him to find vengeance against those who abandoned him, who let them die - and so the arch traitor answered, laughing all the while.

"And they remember nothing of their old god - darn. Their secrets could have been useful. Errors have been made." The arch traitor said, before turning attention to the recently converted agent. "In any case, my friend when or if I betray them it's going to be GREAT, I will need some things of you in order to help you me, maybe? exact revenge. So for now..."

And so, a dark tool joins the arsenal of The Arch Traitor:

quote:

Shun(Note: shorthand for "They who shunned the gods" - Is that too obvious?)
Origins aspect: Let down by their previous God
Subtle +1/Uncanny +2/Restless +2
Currently a Noddite, although the race will rarely matter in the fullness of time, 'Shun' is one manipulated by the Arch Traitor when something important is lost to the person. By redirecting their emotional weakness into blaming the gods, the soon-to-be agent looks for someone or something more, something beyond the gods, but the price of power (and method of acquirement) meddles with the memories of the new Shun. Let they who Shun their gods find their home in the arms of the Arch Traitor!

Finally, the Arch Traitor prepared a series of unmarked letters, letting them dissolve into the smoke into any odd or unnatural realms. While they could not follow, they could lead to answers, or dialogue. Within each letter is written a single word...
Hey.
With any luck, the responders would be willing to teach - and willing to learn.

((Notes: Two free invoke aspects remaining - one harbinger, one unnamed boost.))

Trollhawke fucked around with this message at 00:12 on Apr 10, 2016

Theantero
Nov 6, 2011

...We danced the Mamushka while Nero fiddled, we danced the Mamushka at Waterloo. We danced the Mamushka for Jack the Ripper, and now, Fester Addams, this Mamushka is for you....

Mar'arr'nenkeshet

Jacob, Slave Escapee

Jacob sat in the shade of a little hillock, feasting on a small desert rodent. He had noticed that he no longer really needed to prepare his foods, they tasted just the same if not better that way. His teeth too, seemed to be sharper, and jaws gotten stronger to deal with the added strain. Truly, he had his benefactor to thank for many things. Yes, he served like he had served before. But this time he got gifts in return. He could survive on his own, and perform feats he could not do before. All because of his new Master. His life was good now. Deep in thought, Jacob was eventually woken from his rumination by a harsh yell from the distance. A yell that he recognized as that of an ogre even without looking.

A slave trader, apparently deciding to stop his skiff by the Oasis before continuing on to ply his trade in Agriyadh. Clothed in the finery of the higher classes, yelling at his goods. He had a handful of guards, still enough to keep the cowed humans in line. Humans, many of whom were his people. Jacob's eyes squinted in anger, his teeth grinding against each other. But he could not act. Not yet. Standing up to the ogres was something that required careful plann-

You are not enough we need more we need them we need all go claim them and Sing to them and I will tell them the Truth.

Jacob blinked. His new Master had not asked of him much until now, mainly just to herd animals towards the Oasis at a regular basis. This was a much more dangerous request. But he felt a strange... compulsion to obey. So, without further thought, he merely marched towards the slaver and his retinue. And thus, he was quickly spotted.

"Who dares appr-" The slave merchant begun, but was not given a chance to finish.

Jacob, for his part, addressed the humans instead, paying no heed to the ogres.

"I know why you serve these Ogres. You are terrified. Terrified to lose your lives if you disobey."

For a moment, the interrupted Aghissi was so flabbergasted that he was at a loss for words. This moment was all the time Jacob needed.

"But this is not the only way for you to live!" Jacob kept walking, "I serve a Master that gives instead of only taking! A master who gives gifts you could not have even as free men! You can have all this and more, if-"

"BEHEAD THIS BUFFOON!" The enraged merchant finally managed to bellow, cutting through Jacob's monologue and the shocked silence of all the rest in attendance. Jacob was not to be outdone however.

"-IF YOU JUST STAND UP AND FIGHT BACK!"

And with those words, a huge tentacle burst out from beneath the waters, blotting out the sun momentarily. It descended upon the onlookers, wrapping itself around the merchant and the guard that was moving to intercept Jacob. It lifted their screaming forms up into the air in a high arc, lingered just for a second, long enough for the first few syllables of a panicked prayer to Aghis to be heard. Then, it yanked downwards at lightning speed, making a splash large enough to cast water over all those gathered.

And as those small droplets hit the worn faces of the slaves, something in them snapped. With a great, terrifying yell they all descended upon their captors. With renewed, maddened vigor they kicked and scratched and clawed at their claim to life, steadily pushing the badly outnumbered guards towards the waters. Smaller tendrils were already emerging and wrapping around the Aghissi guards, dragging their kicking and screaming forms to the depths, until none remained. A few slaves were felled as well, their bodies given for the waters to take.

With the fighting stopped, a strange tranquil fell upon the Oasis yet again, only a few smatterings of blood and the panting of the slaves there to hint at the action that took place mere moments before.

"You have served well, my friends", Jacob spoke in gentle tones. "As I said, my new master is generous, and now wishes to gift you for your service. For you serve him now."

A handful of small, pulsating, egg shaped... things washed to the shore, which Jacob dutifully picked up. He ate one of them, and offered the rest to the Slaves.

"Prepare for your initiation."

______________________________________


Agent Action
At hex O:20.44, Jacob, Slave Escapee (an Agent) Restlessly creates a Cult by instigating some slaves to rise against their slaver. Difficulty: (2)
Restlessly creating a Cult (using the Boost, taking the form of some direct help from Mar'arr'nenkeshet): 4dF+5 5 (+3 from Approach, +2 from the Boost)
Success with Style!
Name: The Lifesinger's Choir
Origin: "Emancipated" Slaves
Approaches:
Restless +3
Awful +2
Dreadful +2
Weird +2
Boost: Skiff (taken from the now-dead slaver)

Theantero fucked around with this message at 11:58 on Apr 3, 2016

Yami Fenrir
Jan 25, 2015

Is it I that is insane... or the rest of the world?

The Lurker Beneath, the Third King of the Cold Dark, the Great Old, He who takes minds freely, the Star-Seeker

Boost: Famous Explorers (Heralds of the Deepest Kingdom)



As to be expected... this ... Merrow proves no match for my mastery of the mind. From it's feeble mind, I lifted something curious: It is not alone. It was supposed to be scouting out this place for it's friends, waiting outside of the city limit, cowering behind a rock formation. That pitiful... but also interesting. And convenient. I'll be honest - I did not expect so many servants to flock to me quite this soon.

Very well, little merrow. Go back to your friends. Tell them the city is safe. And when they turn their backs... they will join you. And you will be the one to do the deed for me.


At Hex 36.30, Merrow #1 is going to Subtly recruit a Cult.
Subtly Recruiting a Cult (using Boost): 2dF+4 6
Addendum roll because I suck horribly: 2dF 0

Name: The Heralds of the Deepest Kingdom
Origin: Adventurers of Huaca
Approaches:
Uncanny +1
Subtle +2
Leery +3
Weird +2
Boost: Famous Explorers

Yami Fenrir fucked around with this message at 14:26 on Apr 7, 2016

Trollhawke
Jan 25, 2012

I'LL GET YOU THIS YEAR! EVEN IF I SAID THIS LAST YEAR TOOOOOO
God I love the smell of salty succubi in the morning


Tales of Shun in the city - 1/?

Shun, as history would remember his kind, had lived in this city all of his life. As one of the Haven born locals, rather than an immigrant to the city, Haven had been most of what he knew, and what he loved.

Unfortunately for him, the gods did not love him. They let them die. His brother, his father, his sister - every single one of them were killed by the bastard which lit the church ablaze. And where were the gods when this occurred? Were they busy, lenient or simply apathetic? Had they done wrong in Haven, was there a more human cause?
It matters not.

What does matter, however, is finding out why this happened. Sympathy was easy to come by in the face of loss - and if he remembers the teachings correctly, that sympathy will lead to answers. Answers as to the dark side of Haven, the groups of men who are all guilty. Those who delayed the brigades, Those who let the medical teams be bribed - what was truth or illusion in his memories mattered not. They will be avenged, even going through the gods themselves if need be.

Using a combination of sympathy and favours, the current Shun vowed to find out who pulled the strings behind Haven's back. Across the years it took to uncover the truth, the gift of his master served him well - it was as simple as a shed of a tear, a simple show of all to human anguish - to cast the seeds of doubt. The greatest weakness of people is their own humanity - The Arch traitor knows that humanity can be controlled by those who dehumanize themselves.

But the question is - What secret organizations lie hold power Haven?

At hex 23.34, Shun will attempt to Uncannily discover rumours, using The Arch Traitor's gift: 4dF+4 6

Valhawk
Dec 15, 2007

EXCEED CHARGE

Tign

Tign sat upon his throne, his Golden Dwarves waiting upon him hand and foot. One fanned him, another fed him delicacies they had brought from their former capital of Argushar, dozens upon dozens sang praises to his glory. It was not enough, of course, rightly there should be grand choirs of tens of thousands filling the air with endless praise, entire armies dedicated to seeing to his every whim. His servants did their best to make up for the difference, for they knew he was the world's true king, its rightful master, and it was their holy and solemn duty to do all they could to provide even a modicum of what ought to have been his by right. Tign's mind, however, was elsewhere, on the world outside. He had been gone for so long, and now he could begin to see the land outside his golden cage once more. Something piques his interest and a smile crosses his lips. The Golden Dwarves present rejoice, for their master's smile is more beautiful and precious to them than the rarest gem. With a raised hand, Tign brings utter silence to the room. Then he stands, walks over to the great hearth and speaks. Shivers of bliss run down the spines of the dwarves at the sound, but the words are not for them, rather they carry up and out, through the crack in his prison his servants had created, flying towards their intended destination.

___________________________________________________________________

Captain Anselm sat atop his horse, looking over the beautiful landscape of the Open Hand Pass. It was too bad that such a beautiful land was marred by man's weaknesses. With all the merchant traffic through the Pass, men's greed got the better of them and they turned to banditry. That necessitated the stationing of permanent patrols in the area. He had been assigned here for the better part of six months, the ranking officer of the whole group of men-at-arms. His subordinates were out patrolling the pass, just as he was. It was boring work, and he found his mind starting to wander. Until he heard something, it sounded like a voice, but it was faint, difficult to make out. So, the captain closes his eyes and tries to focus, straining to hear the voice. Suddenly he can hear it clearly, and it is the most beautiful voice he has ever heard, just the sound of it brings him to tears of joy. "I am your king, the king of kings, true master of the world and I have called you. Serve me and you know you are meant to." The words were true, the truest thing the captain had ever heard, he could feel it deep in his bones. His eyes were still closed, as he focused everything he was on listening to the voice, letting it fill him. Without thinking, without opening his eyes, the captain dismounts his horse, and once upon the ground kneels low, as he knew now was the proper place of all peoples, kneeling before their lord and master. The voice continued, "I have much work for you to do, much work indeed."

Anslem just reverently listened, letting his master's words fill him to the brim, tears of joy streaming down his cheeks as he accepted his place as the lowly servant of the world's one true ruler.

At hex U17:17 Tign spends 1 Aberrance to Invoke Whispers on the Wind to Dreadfully Recruit an Agent, using the Free Invoke in King of Kings to boost. Difficulty +0.

4dF+5 6 Succeeded with Style.

quote:

Name: Captain Anselm.

Origin Aspect: Captain of the Open Hand Pass Men-at-Arms

Approaches:
Awful[+1]
Dreadful[+3]
Uncanny[+2]

Boost: Echo of the King's Voice

Yami Fenrir
Jan 25, 2015

Is it I that is insane... or the rest of the world?

The Lurker Beneath, the Third King of the Cold Dark, the Great Old, He who takes minds freely, the Star-Seeker

Free Invoke: Psionic Pool (Heralds of the Deepest Kingdom)
Boost: Famous Explorers (Heralds of the Deepest Kingdom)



Another success... just as planned. But, now what? Hmm... Ah, yes! The Ileth. I suppose I should go ahead and wake them. I suppose I can leave that task to my newest peons, as I continue planning my next move. The Medusae and Merrow both seem viable targets... But whom will I take over first? I will have to ponder. Regardless...

"Sally forth, my Heralds! Use the power I so generously gifted you, and awaken those that sleep beneath!"

Wait. What is this gigantic psionic presence? It seems to stem from the surface, but... I can sense it from even down here. Hmm, maybe I can contact it.

Psionic Message to Marr posted:

Greetings. What are you, and what is your intent in this world?

And just then, a piece of paper appears underwater. Now what would this be... Oh! A letter. Merrow Number one, you are proving more useful than expected. What does it say? 'Hey?' What? Who would even bother to...

"Ugh. Useless. Back to wherever you came."

And with a small amount of psionic energy, the item gets teleported back to the point it was teleported in from - except soaking wet.

Archtraitor posted:

The letter returns to you almost immediately, soaking wet and with a piece of presumably seaweed stuck to it.



At Hex 36.30, the Heralds of the Deepest Kingdom are going to Weirdly Create an Advantage in order to awaken the Ileth - by pooling a lot of psionic energy in one place.
Weirdly Creating an Advantage: 4dF+2 2 Creating the Aspect: Psionic Pool and getting a free invoke of it.

Yami Fenrir fucked around with this message at 14:26 on Apr 7, 2016

Theantero
Nov 6, 2011

...We danced the Mamushka while Nero fiddled, we danced the Mamushka at Waterloo. We danced the Mamushka for Jack the Ripper, and now, Fester Addams, this Mamushka is for you....

Mar'arr'nenkeshet

The depths of the Oasis stirred as a precisely aimed mindblast hit it. An attack? No, much too weak. At closer inspection it seemed like a message. A way for carrying Secrets. Mar'arr'nenkeshet sent back a message of its own. Cruder, but with enough power to carry it through nonetheless.

A pingback for Auluudh posted:

I was first called Mar'arr'nenkeshet and I know the Truth of Life and the Songs of Life and Death and many Secrets also and wish to reveal the Truth to all. If you know Secrets strange Seed for your Secrets I give Secrets so that Life may prevail.

Somewhere, in the depths of the multiverse, a planet was pressing against the walls of the fimament that trapped it. On that planet, there was a being so large that it had grown over nearly every surface and every crevice. It was currently dealing with an intruder: a small rectangular piece of parchment. Fang and enzyme attacked the foreign organics until it was all subsumed, and integrated into a new piece of matter, sent back the way the letter had came.

Back in The Arch Traitor's place of residence, a particularly ugly piece of flesh, around the size of a golfball (what even is that?) dropped onto the floor and started to form tendrils to drag itself around. Also, it immediately started yammering a message that could be felt in the mind.

A "letter" for The Arch Traitor posted:

What are you strange Seed you possess the secrets of the Membranes of the Sky to send notes and Secrets of Marks what is your purpose in this. Do you wish to send Secrets I have Secrets and Secrets may be traded so that Life may prevail.

Theantero fucked around with this message at 11:29 on Apr 3, 2016

Trollhawke
Jan 25, 2012

I'LL GET YOU THIS YEAR! EVEN IF I SAID THIS LAST YEAR TOOOOOO
God I love the smell of salty succubi in the morning

"Why did you sleep with my wife?"
"Because I wanted to. What will you do about it?"
"I'll kill you!


Yami Fenrir posted:


"Ugh. Useless. Back to wherever you came."

And with a small amount of psionic energy, the item gets teleported back to the point it was teleported in from - except soaking wet.

"Oh hey, a reply!"

Unfortunately, it was also the herald for a large amount of sea water. "Gah, dammit!" Ironically, his first response was to use his human hands to cover the hole.

-some time later-

"Okay, so this one is based in a sea realm. Get waterproofed ink, or speak Got it. You'd think with all of the information from past lives, human mistakes would become impossible."

After controlling the sea water supply, Archie (as appropriate as shortening a horror's title would be), began to use the disturbance in order to create a dialogue of sorts. Sending his image across the disturbance, They expressed in ideas and not words looked to create a visual feed.

message to the one in the aquatic realm posted:

"Greetings! I am... Archie. Let's go with Archie. In any case, I've recently just arrived around the realm, and I'm hoping to get to know the realm and those who watch it. Not the official gods, but beings like us, you know? I know some pretty interesting stuff about some surface dwelling races, if you know anything worth trading? I can't seem to speak to you in real time, but I'll be here if you wish to speak. Now how do you end these? Let me-" at this point, the message ends.

In the meantime, the arch traitor sees the bound of flesh which also answers his call. He whispers to it, before sending it on its way to its master.

message to the speaker of seeds posted:

I know some secrets, but I also know other things of interest. Perhaps we should reconvene later, when I have more I am willing to trade.

paradoxGentleman
Dec 10, 2013

wheres the jester, I could do with some pointless nonsense right about now


Zarkai
Last and Greatest Tyrant, Champion of Praxis, Eater of Monkeys

As the evening advances over the lizardfolk's encampment, Walks-Among-the-Stones observes the ruins of Etranoxx, from the relative safety of the tents. He knows there are guards all around the tents, twelve in all, ready to give the alarm should something happen, and that the rest of his tribe is sleeping with their spears nearby and is ready to pounce out of their resting places were it to be sounded; but still he is not tranquil. He can feel in his gut that there are menaces nearby, maybe even more than in the traitorous jungles they have already braved.

Getting everyone this far into the canopy with as little losses as they have already took all of his prudence and expertise. To drop their guard now, in the shadow of the Black Ziggurat would be to invite even more disaster than they are already doing. Still, the chieftain does not know what else to do to appease his own sense of worry: in the last three days they have scouted the perimeter of the city twice without seeing anything scarier than a timid lizard and on the third one they finally entered and started studying the mysterious writings and scrounging up the place for anything that could be useful. The implications of those engravings are... dizzying, to say the least.

Lizardfolk, some of them immense judging by the difference in size with the humans, keeping whole herds of them as chattel and servants. Is that how lizardfolk used to live, back when this city was built? Such might they must have had, that they could enslave humans, and build such buildings, and even the Black Ziggurat! They must have been incredibly mighty. Now, if only he could manage to get some of that might for himself; some advanced tools, or some secret knowledge, or something, all the pain they had to go through to reach this place would have been justified.

It was as he was immerse in his thoughts, a loud hiss alarmed him and the nearby guards. Immediatley, they sprung to action: there are beasts that if allowed to pass through the guard perimeter, can spell death for the whole encampment if not taken down, and worse yet, there are beasts that they know nothing about. He orders one of the guards to stay there and the other one to follow him, and clutching his talisman-covered club, he ran towards the sounds of battle.



What sort of beasts attack an encampment many dozens of warriors strong? And what irritating, fearless beasts these are: they skitter around and between legs, they jump all over the place and, if they notice that one of them is cornered, are always ready to bite at the legs of the aggressor long enough to allow the other one to escape. It is an odd sort of battle, as the beasts seem content to disturb the lizardfolk, and are giving no signal of wanting to reach the pantry or nests with the eggs.

Walks Among the Stones' is cold and efficient as he directs his warriors, but the sinking feeling in his gut has only gotten worse. No natural beast acts like this; if these were humans, he'd say that the only possible explanation is for this to be a distra-


A sharp pain in the left knee, another one at the right foot. How did he not hear them coming? A pull and he falls, face first on the ground. The guard, he had left a guard there. He is being dragged away, the warriors are shouting. More bites now, they are dragging him, they are working together, they are-


His head impacts against a rock. There is a moment of hurt and confusion, than he raises himself with his hands, just in time to see his encampment slip away from view ;for a moment, he sees the corpse of the guard he had left behind to stand its guard against an ambush such as this one, on the ground with two of these cursed lizards picking at the fresh cadaver. They stand at attention, seeing him being dragged away like this, and they join their companions.

Any attempt to right or free himself is met with bits at the fingers, than near the eyes. They are warning him not to attempt to run. He can't see it with his eyes, all they see is the ground under him and the lizards, but he knows where they are going. He can see the Black Ziggurat in his mind very clearly, towering over him like a crocodile over a gecko.

For my Horror action, I will activate my Compsos Servitor aspect with a point of Aberrance and use it to Awfully Create an Advantage to "gain an audience", so to say, with the Scavenger. Kidnapping the Scavenger: 4dF+3 2 Since the difficulty was set at +2, this is a tie and I succeed, but I will generate a Mystery, presumably involving kidnapping lizards.

paradoxGentleman fucked around with this message at 12:48 on Apr 4, 2016

Shogeton
Apr 26, 2007

"Little by little the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him"


Maen
Mother of Madness, Patroness of Artists, Queen of Love, the Moon's Prisoner.

The symposium was not too long after Olufemi's father burial. His hair, now styled light blue had a few strands of hair in his natural hair colour as the traditional symbol of mourning, though his face, still healing from the cuts the 'burglar' had left. Few people had asked questions. The man was not quite rich enough to really upset too many powerful people, and too unpleasant to be missed by most. Both his son and the whole slave household testified to the burglar, so that's what the authorities searched for. The fact that Olufemi soon after emancipated all his slaves was seen as a somewhat eccentric thing, but not completely unusual. Foreign ideas sometimes arrived in Pashen, and resistance to slavery was one. Some of his slaves had left, others had simply became hired staff. Glasan was still there, filling glasses, his hair adorned with a few blue strands of hair to mark his newly liberated status.

The guests were, depending on who you asked, a gathering of the most useless wastrels and misspent education, or the cultural future of Pashen. Painters, poets, musicians and sculptors, or those aspiring to be. Close friends to Olufemi. Many of them probably suspected the old man's death wasn't what it seemed, but none of them were likely to talk. The food and drink was refined, expensive and plenty, using up much of the savings of the household They talked freely, about the latest news, about fashion and art, about politics, ethics and philosophy. Olufemi was the 'center' of the group though, the greatest among the artists. The people here had been the first to see his Opus when it was complete. So when he raised a hand to speak, the talking fell silent.

"Friends, fellows. I thank you to be here with me while I'm figuring out my future. With my father's death, I need to decide what to do with my life. Many of the commissions I have already told me they're happy to wait while my hands heal. But there is... something else I feel called to do. And I would ask for your help in it. Something more than simply a painting. A Great Work to be done. One that will leave this world transformed. I have never been a faithful man. Why should I? What God speaks to me? What god speaks to me of art? They care little for me, why should I for them. I remember as a young man, I heard of the Benefices. Nine, a nice number. And I remembered wondering. So who taught humanity how to draw, and how to play music? And all those planets have a god, except the 'False' Moon, the one that inspires us. We've all wondered about it right?" There were a few nods and sounds of approval.

"I have seen Her." He said. "In those silver sands, I saw a Goddess unlike any the Houses speak of. A goddess of beauty and grace. A goddess that was captured, held. Like art is held in bondage by society that demands it 'serves its purposes'. Glorify this ruler, praise this god, sing a dirge for this dead person! And what has it brought this world with all those 'responsible, serious people leading this world?'" He spoke loudly. "Ruin, war and death. Beastmen scaring us in our own lands! But there will be a change. We will break those chains. We will shatter the mirrors of vanity that keep us imprisoned. And our Goddess will come down, the one who has given us the Tenth Benefice, and a new era for mankind will come!"

Olufemi is going to uncannily Recruit a Cult at O:30.41, Uncannily Create a Cult: 4dF+2 -1 And a really sucky roll, but using up the Boost to make it a 1, means it's a tie. An Agent is doing it, so no Mystery created.
The Cult:

quote:

Name: Disciples of the Tenth Benefice
Origin: Fanatic Artists
Approaches:
Uncanny: 2
Restless: 3
Dreadful: 2

Epicurius
Apr 10, 2010
College Slice


Hadremor

Narshesh was a scholar in the arcane city of Amon Qor, and he had a problem. He had come to Amon Qor from the capital, being in sympathy with the cause of the Magi sect. His family, though, were strong opponents of the sect, his father being a pasha in Iram tightly tied to the Deathspeakers, and his abandonment of the family and their ideals led to a rift between he and them. Though his father had not yet disowned him, Narshesh feared the old man would do so soon. His wife and children also were in Iram, kept from him by his wife's father. So it was with a heavy heart and a troubled mind that Narshesh entered the library of Amon Qor.

Amon Qor had one of the oldest libraries in the Empire, and Narshesh had come there, in part, to attempt to strengthen the position of the pyromancers. He believed that the Abyssids had, in past days, before the coming of the Deathspeaker cult, been more tolerant of magic than it was now. If he could show that this were true; if he could show that, in fact, wizardry and pyromancy had not just been tolerated in the past, but actively encouraged, then, in the tradition bound Abyssid Empire, this would inevitably strengthen the position of the faction. He hoped so, at least. So he went to the oldest parts of the library, parts that had been largely neglected, like the storage chambers beneath the main library. The books there had never been cataloged (or, if they had, it had been lost), and he knew his greatest chances of finding something new would be there. After much searching, he picked up a book that seemed promising and began to read..

What was in that book is unknown to me, reader. Even its title, I do not know. But know this, when Narshesh read it, it did something to him. It planted a seed in his brain, changing it, changing him. All books do that, of course, but Narshesh had the misfortune of selecting one that was perhaps more hostile to his mind than most.

And, meanwhile, deep in slumber, Hadremor laughed at a very amusing dream.


My Horror action is using his free invoke to recruit an Agent in O:06.31
Recruiting Abyssid scholar in Amon Qor/leery: 4dF+3 2
Name: Narshesh
Origin: Scholar estranged from his family.
Abyssid

Approaches:

Leery +3
Subtle +1
Uncanny +2

Epicurius fucked around with this message at 02:14 on Apr 3, 2016

Takanago
Jun 2, 2007

You'll see...

Ahiram

How long had it been?

In the ruins of Hiram's Landing, away from the Eyes of the world, a man has been toiling away for ages. But could you really call him a man? He certainly was a man, but in his current state, that's no longer quite true, now is it? No, the one who still resides in these toxic ruins is no mere mortal. Not anymore. When Ahiram, Son of Hiram, overcame the force of Death itself and escaped from the clutches of Hell itself, he had been changed irrevocably. He was more than just an Ornassi prince, but the experience had also wounded him, and weakened him.

Ahiram was not concerned. "Why should I bound by the weakness of this flesh?" He remarked, upon taking in the full extent of his injuries. "This body is merely a shell."

And so, Ahiram set out to re-invent himself. He gathered materials from all around the abandoned ruins: old weapons, armors, and other metallic artifacts. He fired up the great, dormant furnaces, sending out pillars of smoke and fumes as he melted these items down and reforged them into new, magnificent pieces pieces for his body. One-by-one, he replaced his own body parts, trading withered flesh for strong bronze and steel. By the time he was finished, there was nothing left of his old self except his immortal soul. And perhaps some other things that went along with that.

When he was finished, Ahiram looked around him with fresh eyes. He saw a world that had left him behind -- a world that had not only forgotten him, but erased him. They no longer needed him. They no longer even wanted him.

How long had it been?

Ahiram spent a while thinking and contemplating what he had seen. There was no longer a home for him anywhere but here. Everything else had been taken away.

"I shall take it back in due time. But for now..."

Part of him just wanted to go now, and undo this grave insult. But things were not yet ready. If things did not work out, there would be no place to return to.

"I must restore this place, just as I have restored myself. When we are both reborn, the world shall see our magnificence."

Ahiram set out, once again, on a new project. He gathered up materials, much greater in scale this time, and reforged them into new pieces. Then, with these new pieces, he restored and rebuilt entire sections of the ruined fortress. And all of this, he did single-handedly. Smoke drifted from the forges, day and night, and so too did the sounds of construction and artifice echo throughout the stronghold.

The new, revitalized castle did not look that much different from the outside. Most of the architecture was intact, and so there was no need to change it. Nor was there any desire: mortal flesh may be weak and temporary, but mortal craftsmanship is something that can truly stand the tests of time. Not that there's no room for improvement, though: the gates of the castle were reinforced with heavy steel. And, on the inside, all new kinds of wondrous metal mechanisms have been installed into the guts of the fortress. All of them have been linked together, with tremendous effort, to form a system of such complexity that one could almost consider the whole castle to be alive.

But of course, that would be an absurd thought.

When he was finished, Ahiram took one more stroll through the grounds to inspect and admire his own handiwork. Gone from this place were symbols and icons put in place to honor the Divine, those arrogant overlords. Gone, too, were murals and images that memorialize images of a weaker past. This place would now only represent something new. One of the new bronze statues, of Ahiram's new image, turns slowly to watch the Horror as he walks by. The two share a look of understanding.

With that done, Ahiram could finally turn his attention to the outside. He had grown tired of waiting and biding his time.

How long had it been?

Horror Action: Ahiram Leerily creates a Lesser Horror (Tower) at Hiram's Landing (O:19.26), spending 1 Abberance as is necessary.
4dF+0 = 1 Success vs Difficulty 0.

Valhawk
Dec 15, 2007

EXCEED CHARGE


Captain Anselm
Agent of Tign

The captain knew what he had to do. The Master had told him much, told him the truth that now defined his life utterly and completely. The world had a king, a master, and all the pain and sorrow and disaster there had ever been was because He was denied His rightful throne by jealous and evil mortals and gods alike. The truth at the heart of the world is that all beings, men and gods alike were meant to serve Him and love Him just as Anselm did now. That the Master had told him this was enough to cause him to believe it complete and unquestioningly, however even if for some unimaginable reason it had not been, Anselm still would have believed it. He had never felt happier, never been filled with such purpose, his life with such meaning. He did not remember how he lived before this moment, before he knew he was truly ruled over, truly dedicated to a cause more glorious and righteous than any he could imagine, his life must have been hollow and empty.

He would have shared this joyous revelation with his men of his own accord, but that the Master had commanded it as well only filled him with absolute determination. They would share in the truth, amd they would happily and eagerly bow and swear their lives to King of Kings. The Master had commanded it, there could be no alternative.

The men-at-arms returned to their camp after a long day of patrols to find their captain waiting for them. Before they could go off and relax he told them he had to speak with them. This was unusual, but not enough to raise any alarms. They were not prepared for what happened next, for when he rose to speak before them, the captain spoke with a force and skill he had never displayed before. As he preached to them it was as if there was another voice echoing within his own, a powerful and perfect voice, but one that grew fainter with each passing second. However, it was enough, more than enough, for the men had already come to trust in the captain over the months of their service here. Now, this combined with his newfound skill and that underlying voice drove the truth of his words into their minds like a spike. Their entire lives upto this point had been empty, but now they had purpose. The King had called upon them to serve, and they would do so with joyous hearts, without question or hesitation.

That night, kneeling before the campfire they swore their lives and souls to Tign. The Golden Order was born, there in that mountain pass, servants of the King of Kings, His warriors and priests. That night they stayed awake into the late hours signing His praises, arising the next morning to do His will.

Captain Anselm is Dreadfully recruiting a cult using Echos of the King's Voice. Difficulty: 2.

4dF+5 4

Cult:

quote:

Name: The Golden Order

Origin Aspect: Pretonian Men-at-Arms

Approaches:
Dreadful[+3]
Uncanny[+2]
Weird[+2]

Boost: Convert's Zeal

TheNabster
Apr 26, 2014

"Today I will cause problems on purpose"

The Ministry of Reality
=Minutes of the first meeting of the comitee to clean up Sarnath=


There is a room. It looks for all intents and purposes to be a desaturated office that you might find anywhere in the world. Right down to the selection of shadowy faced business men discussing matters of intrigue to other similarly sinister looking individuals.

And within this room, the fate of nations was decided over otherworldly tea and biscuits, this was the Ministry at work.

One said "Just this city? We have not discovered more?"

"The issue we are facing, is that this world is under some potent and very attentive protections from above, and below. Even if the 'Gods' have removed themselves from interfering with the creatures below our presence will not be welcome."

"Yes" said one, taking from a plate of biscuits. "But we have a plan already it is being put into place do we not? Have we located the 'item'?"

"It's presence has been felt here, but that is just it, a presence may mean it is within the walls of Waethai, or it could be within the whole of the island"

"Then our presence will merely have to be, wide-spread. Inform the Black-Hats that they are to suit up and begin, prelimimary operations.

And in Waethai dark presence began to take hold.

-

Lower Waethai, Marketplace

The Undercity beneath the cliffs was normally a centre of hustle and bustle, an important point between multiple trade routes have made the smoking haphazard streets an important part of the lives of many, many people. But today a man was getting a lot of attention.

"Why should we suffer for this arrogance!, they sit in their high towers in their finery and Lord it over the rest of us! They turn their back on the Gods and wallow in self-important decadence and decay! Why sit and beg these creatures for anything when all they deserve nothing but the waste they have created for themselves." The preacher was; wild, rabid, and often a common sight in the marketplace often attracting a crowd just out of general boredom.

But today something was different, people were paying attention, a few more men in similar situations all across 'Lower Sarnath' were speaking similarly charged bile to the masses and they were, agreeing with it. Because inside every man present there was a voice and it whispered

"Why are you here? To beg these elves for small glimmers of knowledge, and in return they treat you as children at best and a tool at worse. You do not have to stand for this, you shouldn't stand for this.

-

Upper Waethai, Hall of Splendour

"It's diagraceful, we have allowed them here on sufferance given them our permission to build their homes beneath our towers and now they assume that we have been exploiting them." Ferinald Gwenforlyn, a scholar of some note looked over his balconey towards the teeming masses below with a look of utter distaste.

"Have you heard? A heirodule and her novices had stones throwed at her in the street! And we should tolerate these people here? In this most high city of Sarnath? The Sage needs to take action!"

There were more little groups like this around Waethai trotting out similar statements, and slowly but surely this news was getting back to Elanquar and the human civilizations back home. Little bumps on the road to what was, if not an amicable relationship, then at the least a stable one. People were taking notice, people were contributing to the growing issue in their own way.

And no one ever noticed what now seemed to be lurking in the midst, whispering into their minds, edging on dark thoughts and darker actions, tricking the unknowing and the unaware into thinking their thoughts were their own and serting the stages for something terrible to happen.

The Malignancy had taken hold.

---

The Ministry's Horror action is to Subtly Create an Advantage against the Sarnath Antarchy, by inflicting The Malignancy upon it and stirring the elves and human pilgrims against each other. A corruption of Bubbling Racial Tension in other words.

For this I'll use the Subtle +3 approach, my free invoke of The Malignancy (+2), spend 1 abberance to use Servitors: The Black-Hats (+2) and make use of the Poison Goes Where Poison's Welcome gift for +2 since I am Subtly pitting two groups against each other for +9 in total. This action is difficulty +4 due to targeting a whole faction.

4dF+9 = 11 9

I think this is a success with bags of style

I am informed that due to using them to do the action, I can't claim +2 invoking bonus on the Servitors, but I will still succeed the action with style.

TheNabster fucked around with this message at 12:47 on Apr 16, 2016

Theantero
Nov 6, 2011

...We danced the Mamushka while Nero fiddled, we danced the Mamushka at Waterloo. We danced the Mamushka for Jack the Ripper, and now, Fester Addams, this Mamushka is for you....

Mar'arr'nenkeshet

The Lifesinger's Choir, "Emancipated" Slaves

The group of freed slaves, who now had taken to calling themselves 'The Lifesinger's Choir' at Jacob's behest had been quite busy during the first days of their existence. Mainly, they were tasked with hunting for any residue of living creatures they could find, preferably live specimens, and then bringing them to the Oasis. They scurried about and did their best, but their new Master's hunger seemed to know no bounds, and it was constantly demanding more. No matter how much they brought, the demands just got greater and greater. And indeed, the cultists were beginning to reach the ends of their means, but then they were addressed.

The seeds here are weak with few Secrets and quiet Songs bring them the Secrets of Growth and Division so that they may add notes to their songs so that I may better hear.

And with that, a set of strange, glossy black seeds washed to the shores. They were somewhat warm to the touch, and occasionally writhed against the palm, but were otherwise inert. The Cultists took these seeds, and in accordance to their Master's guidance, planted them around the Oasis, quickly moving from place to place with their skiff. In the dead of night, they carried strange vesicles of unknown substances given by their master, and anointed the earth where they had planted the seeds. And it did not take long, until the seeds had grown to strange, thorny, twisting vines and shrubberies that had managed to drain even the very last vestiges of nutrients in the areas they were planted in. And even though they seemed perilous, these 'plants' retracted their thorns at the cultists' approach, as if they wanted to be cut down and taken.

After they had traveled to every spot, cut down every vine and dug out every root, careful to make sure they left no trace of them, did the cult present their gift to their benefactor. With tense anticipation they waited its response, hoping against hope that it would have been satisfied for now. But it was not to be, and their hearts darkened as even more was demanded. But what were they to do? Most residue had already been taken. All they had was their Skiff.

Their Skiff.

Made of wood.

As one, the cultist swarmed their vessel, breaking it apart, and throwing every plank and piece of cloth they could find into the waiting waters. And then, only after they were done, were they greeted with notes of satisfaction. They finally had respite from their labour, for now.

Deep beneath the surface, the collected biomass had already been processed, and was being converted to leathery, pulsating bags of veiny flesh. If one had particularly good hearing, and was close enough, they might have heard strange chittering emanating from inside.

______________________________________


Cult Action
At hex O:20.44, The Lifesinger's Choir (A Cult) will Weirdly Create an Advantage to get a free Invocation on the Aspect Servitors: Gnashers by using Mar'arr'nenkeshet's mojo to grow some weird stuff at a wider radius, then shipping them to the Oasis for biomass.
Difficulty: (2)
Weirdly Creating an Advantage: 4dF+2 1 (+2 from Approach), using my 'Skiff' boost to bump that to 3 (The Cult straight up feeds the Skiff to Marr as extra biomass)
Success
Free Invocation get!

Yami Fenrir
Jan 25, 2015

Is it I that is insane... or the rest of the world?

The Lurker Beneath, the Third King of the Cold Dark, the Great Old, He who takes minds freely, the Star-Seeker

Free Invoke: Psionic Pool (Heralds of the Deepest Kingdom)
Boost: Famous Explorers (Heralds of the Deepest Kingdom)



Well, looks like my minions are doing what I ordered just fine. Time to respond to these strangers...

Reply to Marr posted:

I know many secrets, indeed. Including one that allows a mortal to live close to forever... But what, in turn, would you be willing to give?


With the strange, yelling voice out of the way, he turns to, uhm, Archie. What a strange, undignified name.

Reply To Archie posted:

Oh, I'm sure we could get along. I do know a good fair share of secrets, for I have witnessed much. I do have something that could be of utmost interest to one such as you, but... what would you give in return, surface dweller?

Basically, I'm willing to trade knowledge about my Secret if I get yours in return.


Hmm... now that I think about it, maybe there are other primordeals left. Surely, their mind would be sticking out like - oh, there IS one! How curious.

Mental message to Zarkai posted:

Ah, a fellow primordeal. The oldest of the Aboleths, Auluudh, greets you. How are things on the surface these years? I have slept for so long, I am quite out of touch, I must admit.

Yami Fenrir fucked around with this message at 14:27 on Apr 7, 2016

Theantero
Nov 6, 2011

...We danced the Mamushka while Nero fiddled, we danced the Mamushka at Waterloo. We danced the Mamushka for Jack the Ripper, and now, Fester Addams, this Mamushka is for you....

Mar'arr'nenkeshet

Reply to Auluudh posted:

I have the Secrets of the Membranes of the Skies and I know where the tears are and how to move through them and how to use them when threatened by others so that you may always be safe. Sing me your Secrets and I sing you mine.

Yes let's swap Secrets!

Mar'arr'nenkeshet writhed. It already knew of two powerful Seeds with powerful Secrets that lay in this world. It wondered if there were others.

...

Only one way to find out.

And with that, Mar'arr'nenkeshet let out a huge, terrible scream that echoed through the firmament. It was a greeting of sort, an inquisitive prod towards all that could hear such cacophonies.

I'm calling to all Horrors! Say hello!

Theantero fucked around with this message at 13:18 on Apr 3, 2016

Yami Fenrir
Jan 25, 2015

Is it I that is insane... or the rest of the world?

The Lurker Beneath, the Third King of the Cold Dark, the Great Old, He who takes minds freely, the Star-Seeker

Free Invoke: Psionic Pool (Heralds of the Deepest Kingdom)
Boost: Famous Explorers (Heralds of the Deepest Kingdom)



Oh? That is interesting indeed. Very well...

Reply to Marr posted:

Very well. Let me 'sing' the knowledge of my Secret of Sleep and Life into your mind.

Done!

Yami Fenrir fucked around with this message at 14:28 on Apr 7, 2016

TheNabster
Apr 26, 2014

"Today I will cause problems on purpose"


Trollhawke posted:

Finally, the Arch Traitor prepared a series of unmarked letters, letting them dissolve into the smoke into any odd or unnatural realms. While they could not follow, they could lead to answers, or dialogue. Within each letter is written a single word...
Hey.

Theantero posted:

I'm calling to all Horrors! Say hello!

*Beep*

Thank you for contacting the Ministry of Reality customer support line, your link to the higher powers.

If you would like to schedule or reschdule an audit for your reality, press 1.

If you would like to report the unwanted presence of life in your plane, press 2.

If you are intending to expand your reality, or you are seeking permission to create a new plane of existence, press 3.

If you would like to appeal for the extension of your existence, press 4.

If you wish to lodge a query, or if you are not satisfied with the service you have recieved, press 5.

To listen to these options again, press the star key.

TheNabster fucked around with this message at 18:06 on Apr 3, 2016

Valhawk
Dec 15, 2007

EXCEED CHARGE


The Golden Order
Cult of Tign

The Golden Order set out to do their Master's work. Abandoning their patrols they go to a secluded area of the pass, one not normally visited by either merchants or bandits. There they begin their work, attempting to carve a physical gate that will soon link to the Master's holy realm. They work as hard as they are able, but they are soldiers, not miners and despite their zeal and their rituals they made almost no progress.

Creating an Advantage on Golden Palace. (Weird[+2]). Difficulty: +4: 4dF+2 1

Shogeton
Apr 26, 2007

"Little by little the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him"


The Disciples of the Tenth Benefice

The bar was a quiet place, and a few people that had been lingering there had noticed there were some weird things going on. There were a lot of folks around who were carrying mirrors on them for some reason. One of them was constantly looking outside. It was a pretty cloudy night, and the False Moon was constantly half or fully hidden beneath a carpet of clouds. And sometimes, the bartender, which wasn't the usual one, would for no reason at all refuse couples. Any romantic couple was asked to please leave. Bars were usually not exactly the kind of place where one was so drat puritan.

On the other hand, someone was playing some really nice music, way beyond the quality that a cheap bar would normally be able to afford, so a lot of people didn't mind, and there was a regular coming and going. Only the weird folks with the mirrors seemed to stay, nursing the same glass, though the new tender never seemed to really mind.

And then, the one guy who was looking outside simply sad. "She shows her face.." Because the moon was uncovered.

A lot of things happened at that moment.

One of the men stood up and locked the front door.

The musician suddenly started playing a much louder piece.

The lights were lowered all over the bar.

And one man spoke up, voice barely heard above the din, and the surprised and confused mumbling of those without mirrors in the place. "When the gods first found humanity, it was without reason, yet their hearts were full of emotion. It was this humanity that the Gods defied their parents for. It was that this humanity that the Patroness of Arts loved. And the gods changed us and gave us ten benefices, and we are are grateful. But just like we sometimes wear the outfit we wore when our lovers fell in love with us, sometimes we must shed reason. We must break it, shatter reason! SHATTER IT!"

And as one, all the men and women struck the mirrors they brought with bare hands. At this point several of the normal clients were trying to make for the door, but the weird people were now standing up, mad grins on their faces as they held mirror shards in their bare hands. They screamed, but the loud music prevented their screams from being overheard.

Well. Perhaps there was one who heard what was going on. Even if it couldn't fully draw her eyes away. For on her throne, Maen smiled.

The Disciples of the Tenth Benefice will try to Restlessly Create an Advantage to Get Invokes of Maen's madness domain. Restlessly Create Advantage: 4dF+3 5 Success with Style. The Cult gets two free invokes of the Madness domain.

Tricky Dick Nixon
Jul 26, 2010

by Nyc_Tattoo


The night after the moon showed her face...

Olufemi was woken from his restless slumber, finding himself all too ready to leap awake from his rest when called upon by Glasan. Yet once he was awake, he found himself longing for the visions that dissipated like the morning mists, and barely heard what Glasan was explaining, until it dawned upon him that he would have to get prepared quite swiftly, and recover from the revels of the night before with the dissolute youth, enjoying the fortune of his father's inheritance. Yet the question remained... "Why has he come?"

After being attended to, a bit hastily, by Glasan and donning casual wear as was the custom in one's own villa, Olufemi attended to his guest who awaited in the parlor, rubbing at his chin as he examined the opus. It was admittedly quite chilling how the eyes, so lifelike and emotional in quality, leapt from the canvas and seemed to not only gaze into each other, but also the onlooker. The guest was a large and rotund man with a grayed beard dyed at its extremities a yellow that must have been gold but seemed sickly and pale to Olufemi who had no love in his heart for this man by his reputation and reminded him too much of his father, and a great tall turban in the Aghissi style as is the fashion to match with his finery.

“Have you come to commission a work, guildmaster?” Olufemi knew precisely who this man was, everyone and Orissa did, and being young and clever though to guess at his guest’s motives, though his timing unseemly. The guildmaster, named Isasvar, was the wealthiest, and therefore most powerful, man in all of Orissa, and him paying a visit to a young artist of only recent repute seemed to only have one obvious reason. The man flipped his golden coin, a token of good fortunes, and snatched it from the air, turning with a similar glint in his eyes.

When the guildmaster turned to regard his host, his eyes were kind and squinting, and his smile wide under the mustache. He gave a flourish and bow, and began as was the Pashen custom, with effusive flattery. “The common soul dare not stand in the way of such genius, my dear man, and venal matters should not touch what is so divine as this I see before me. Yea, I would not ask it of you, Olufemi, for I would not sully it with material weight, nor would I draw you away from the muse, nor would I so unkindly impose so soon after your tragedy.” Some of his words were echoes of the artist’s own that night he gathered his disciples, but they rang with the same empty courtesy most mortals in these lands adorned themselves with.

Olufemi knew it kind to answer in turn during these introductions, but he was cut off by the man, and this became a theme as he soon realized the man surely came with purpose, his questions leading and his words shrewd. “No, I have come to lift burdens, not to place them upon you,” the kindly eyed guildmaster lied through his teeth. “It is a terrible thing, your father was much loved for his generosity,” lies, “and we mourned his passing, even among the artisans, though he was an aristocrat,” lies, “but not all have spoken entirely kindly of him,” truth, “and I came here in hopes that you have not been unduly pressured by any sort.” LIES. The artist politely thanked the guildmaster, and told him that it was unnecessary

“After all, your father’s position…”

The artist responded he was no politician. His father had purchased a position as a member of the Four Hundred and Eighty, and was an absentee voter at best, enjoying more what he expected was his birthright as being distant related to some island prince or some such before civilization truly came to Pashen. The guildmaster’s eyes twinkled at that. “Oh? It is a great honor to serve in the Four Hundred and Eighty. Each man and woman of note shows their worth by doing so, and his position shall surely be put on auction with his passing. I know, it is a shame, but there is always time for paying as well as dying.” The golden coin twirled between his fingers, glinting with the sunlight.

The artist had no words for that, and felt testy to know where the guildmaster was going. Making Olufemi another one of his puppets? Ha, he had a mistress already, and this pitiful man knew not what blood Olufemi had spilled in her honor. His sickly yellow whiskers and soft belly would make a poor canvas, and he was certainly not a nobody, but the moment passed the mind, with the recent acts so fresh in mind that the scent of blood was still faintly upon the air. Besides, his father only rarely voted, and being an aristocrat besides, surely would not have voted to this grasping guildsman’s tune.

“With all of the unsettled matters of estate left to you, I can understand why you would hesitate. It is not a small purchase to make, and many have waited years for an opportunity for the auction, biding their time and saving their coin.” He spites derisively to the ground as they walk the gardens together, as if to show his sincerity to his continuing diatribe. “Greybeards and penny-pinchers, the lot of them, and each singularly unworthy. Only the bold and truly inspired deserve to rest their hind upon those sacred seats.”

The artist impatiently told him once more that he had no intention of involving himself in anything more than his art, and perhaps in losing his composure continued to call such thought a pollutant of the soul. The guildmaster laughed, and perhaps this is when the artist realized that he was being toyed with, this fat, soft tom cat having claws that almost immediately came out, as if a reminder. “Of course, of course, what with the matter of your being in arrears.” Olufemi was caught off-guard at the mention. “After all, you not only inherit the property, but the debts of the deceased.”

“Of course I know that. Every child knows that,” the artist was further incensed, but quickly coiled back, realizing that his drawing assumptions up to this point had served him little. “I am told the debts are many, true, but each is small and owed to a different lender, and the properties shall pay for themselves in the fullness of time. I am an artist, but still Pashen, Isasvar.” Using the name was either a sign of familiarity or disrespect. It should be obvious the context here. “Yes, many who would see you done harm. Your father owed me but little, and we quarreled less, but when I returned to settle the matters with the usurers guild, it became known to me the names of these lenders. The names of the houses fine and aristocratic, for sure, but the men behind those names, I hesitate to say, less so.” He moved a bit closer to the smaller artist. The Pashen were fond of violating personal space when it suited their manipulations, but this was surely unwanted.

“I have come to lift those burdens, dear Olufemi. I loved your father, so I should love you as I would my own godsson. Just as the Open-handed is patron of all orphans, should I not in his example show mortal kindness? It is an honest desire of mine.” It was beginning all too clear why the guildmaster had come here, and it was to deliver this message. “In your best interest, I have purchased your debt. Every last bit to the last copper shall be entrusted to mine own interests. This way, the unscrupulous desires of those dissolute men will be no burden to you.” The artist had no great mind for numbers, but this caused his heart to sink at the implications. Many small debts meant it would be easier to pay them off all at once and buy them off one at a time while suffering only interest. This consolidation meant he would pay less interest overall, it’s true… but it meant he would never be able to pay it off all at once.

He would be in debt to the most dangerous man in Orissa, perhaps for the rest of his life, unless something was done. “Do not worry, I shall ask little and less of you, my dear man. You shall not have to pay me a single silver for many moons. In fact, you shall have my aid in many things, such as your reclaiming your father’s position.” The artist knew well enough to accept not a poisoned gift, but his refusal was cut off. “Oh, it is nothing so much like coin. It would be insulting to you as Pashen to pay for your seat. And illegal besides.” He laughed at that, shaking his head. “But I shall assure that none else save you shall bid more than twenty thousand silver in coin.” That was still quite a bit, and not an amount that Olufemi was likely to be able to accumulate in time for the auction, unless he was to go further into debt.

The painter realized at this point there was no point in outright refusing and kept silent, as the guildmaster nodded, taking the silence as assent. “Good, we have come to terms then. You may call upon me as a godsfather, remember this, Olufemi.” And then he kissed him chastely upon the lips, as a man might love his family member does, as unwanted as the close presence, but he soon drew away. The time for making plans was now. Would the artist leave the city, and his debts, behind, or try and outmaneuver the guildmaster before what he owed was called upon his head? Could it be turned around? The guildmaster was dangerous, but the painterknew something, that gave him strength beyond anything else.

The guildmaster was no Horror.

The Guildmaster targets Olufemi’s in Orissa where he is weakest, without any Leery or Careful Approach, and Flashily Creates Advantage against Difficulty +0 in order to secure financial power over the newly instated aristocrat.

Flashily Create Advantage. Difficulty +0.: 4dF+1 1

Success. The Guildmaster creates the Owed and Owned aspect, defining the relationship between him and the Painter, and gains a free invocation on this aspect.




Meanwhile, beneath the streets of Orissa...

Galaia prayed.

She was no great and pious vestal, gods knew she was far beyond that now. She had lived the comfortable life of a house slave for so long, that the idea of anything else truly terrified her. She was "used" and not specially or trained, or even especially beautiful compared to the "living art" of the truly dissolute she heard the Ornassi and even some Pashen kept. She was set then to become the household slave of some merchant on the far east, where beasts ruled the land and everything was poisonous and terrible. Or worse, they would grow tired of her and throw her to the mines, or their lizardfolk pets, which were greater and more terrible than the crocodile-men of the jungles, the other cruel slaves had told her. She wanted nothing to do with all of this, and without any other means before her, she turned to the gods.

Thus she prayed for these venal, base reasons, and knew it guiltily in her heart that the gods, when they do answer mortals, do not answer such selfish please with anything but a curse. Would that she be cursed! Like something out of a northron romance, or Ornassi drama, made beautiful and unaging like Alkonost the siren, or terrible to behold like Euryale the gorgon. She could settle with the destruction of other mortals, as her opinion of them had become quite low at her mistreatment since the father of her painter sold her away rather than let the scandal (and this being a shameful scandal rather than one of the exciting kinds, as the mixing of aristocrat and slave is liable to draw more than gossip) unfold out. One could see the paint-strokes of The Lover's Farewell matching a similar motif in the opus that she would never get to see, but he had always talked about to her.

It was a paen to love, as much as it was to madness, after all.

She waited in the belly of a great junk, to be set off to somewhere east, and every place she could imagine going further there was more godforsaken than the last. Not that west was much better, but her prayer had been that the wind might catch the sails and blow them unexpected to the current north, where she heard from some that there were no slaves, only dashing knights and laughing friars, and while a bit rustic compared to this place, long her home, surely she could learn to love it if only the gods would let her free.

Her prayer was answered, but if it was by the gods, it was not the gods she was expecting.

The air around her suddenly quickened with heat, alarmingly like the blast from a hearth when stoked, and she felt alarmed at heart, yet also perhaps somewhat comforted, even ecstatic. Had the chivalric sun come to whisk her away on his rainbow chariopt to that magical land? She could scarcely believe it, and her skepticism was warranted. From billowing smoke that poured from the shadow like as if from fire, a large hand reached out and wrapped about her. She strained to cry out, but it wrapped so tightly about her neck that it seemed like it could snap it at any moment, like a mortal might with a small bird in hand. A voice came from the smoke, a face materializing just barely of a horned blue ogre. "Be silent, mortal, or I shall feed you to the crocodiles."

Her heart wavered such that she grew faint, but she was conscious enough to feel the strange sensation of being pulled back into the darkness. Every breath was choking and caused her head to lighten, and all around she could see billowing shapes, and sometimes lights like torches, pillars of flame and lines crossing through what looked like sky. It was only for a brief moment, and then she saw the sky once more. It was brief and fleeting, as she was slung over the ogre's shoulder, silent and transfixed by the image of the sun slowly fading as she was carried into the depths of the undercity.

She was never bound, only held by terror, but they descended into a place of shadow and smoke just beneath the bustle and industry of the city above. This was the ogre city of Ijan. Built only on ruins of a greater city, perhaps not even of the ogres themselves, torches dot the darkness and provide islands of light, while everything else is inky blackness. Thus there was only blindness and the occasional gaze upon glinting black eyes and lurking forms, and she knew that she would be a slave forever now, or something far worse, as there are many tales of what the ogres do with captured maidens, and a maiden she may no longer be, she did not intend to simply resign to the fate allotted to her. She had seen the glint of the knife at the ogre's side, and wondered if she might slip away if his grip loosened and grab at it.

They had finally arrived at their destination, where apparently there was a barge waiting for them in the underground river, to carry her away to Hell or worse. Trading the belly of one ship for another. When she was to be set down, however, upon her bare feet, she acted quickly. The great curved knife might as well had been a shortsword in her hands, and when she swung blindly in the darkness, she felt the steel glint and blacken with blood spilled, but the wound was not mortal, only a graze, and the ogre only laughed, almost approvingly, speaking in its own bastard if beautiful tongue. She though to run back, but the ogre seemed to leap from the shadows themselves to stop her, and she turned to run in another direction, only to find herself before a great ogress, wrapped in veils and with burning cerulean eyes that glowed with an unearthly light, holding an ornate scythe blade near to her neck and stopping her in her tracks.

The sheikah spoke to the other ogre, and they exchanged a short conversation with Galaia there before them. They were discussing her fate, she knew, and she listened as carefully as she could. She could not make sense of their tongue, but she did understand one word, and her blood curdled. "East? Not east! I beg of you, great ogress, please spare me. I do not want to go east. Let me be a slave here, I will... clean your homes, make my knees bloody with the work and my fingers crooked, but do not send me east! I do not want to die in the mines and wilds there, I..." she realized that ultimately, either way, she was going to die as the slave she was, and could only now finally resign once more. The gods indeed had cursed her, it seems, for her selfish prayers.

The sheikah regarded the slave not unkindly, but the words of the Medhari, when kind, are laced with poison. So her gaze grew harsh, along with her voice, speaking in Ornassi plainly. "We have no choice. You have been marked." The sheikah's eyes glinted, and Galaia thought that perhaps she generated some kind of light, as everything around her grew a bit brighter, and easier to see. Yet she began to realize that was not the case, and looked upwards, and realized the light sprung from her forehead, where a great silvery brand of the moon itself burned with hatred and madness and poisoned. Marked by Medhar... or someone else.

As my Divine Reaction, the devotee of Medhar, the Sheikah recruits an agent in the Medhari city of Ijan beneath Orissa, thus Sneakily Creates Advantage against Difficulty +0 in order to secure the escaped slave that is otherwise unwanted..

Sneakily Recruit Agent. Difficulty +0.: 4dF+3 5

Success with style. The Sheikah grants three approaches and a boost to the new agent.

Galaia, a Captive
Origin: Kidnapped Slave
A Pashen mortal.
+3 Sneaky, +2 Clever, +2 Arcane
Boost: Medhari Bodyguard




Across the waters, to the great city of Vitrianata...

The word of great mirror-like shards reached the floating city with some interest. There were wild rumors that they may be made out of pure silver, and quickly the line of investigation became who exactly owned the parts of the jungle they were spotted, which as far as anyone could tell was nowhere near the silkworm planations while the elephant minders guild was quick to point out their herders were the ones that were the first to report it to the authorities. Soon enough moneyed powers became involved, and while the louder patricians started to try and figure out the best way to deal with this without overreaching, insulting the local Silvadian Mysteries or giving an advantage to their opposing parties, an adventuer by the name of Kavana, hoping to bypass the bickering and make a fortune for himself, bought an archaeological permit, and hoped to fast talk the locals into believing that his remit, which only applied to the ruins of those who lived here before the Pashen, would apply to this alien mystery. Preparing to set off mostly alone, he made his plans forthwith.

As my Faction Reaction, the Pashen Thalassocracy will recruit an agent in Vitrianata, thus Cleverly Creates Advantage against Difficulty +1 in order to get an adventurer to deal with that mystery in the Farusian jungle.

Cleverly Recruit Agent. Difficulty +1.: 4dF+2 3

Success. The Thalassocracy grants two approaches to the agent.

Kavana, an Adventurer
Origin: Enterprising Explorer
A Pashen mortal.
+2 Clever, +2 Sneaky

Epicurius
Apr 10, 2010
College Slice


Narshesh, Agent of Hadremor

Narshesh's studies in the Library had begun to bear fruit. It was strange, because he didn't remember much of his time in the library, but he had taken copious notes of what he had found there, and from what he could tell, there had been a pyromantic tradition among the old Abyssids, a fairly strong one, as a matter of fact. It seemed that it was practiced fairly freely among the elite, before the Deathspeakers had risen to power. In fact, pyromancers were above the law. Their knowledge meant that they weren't considered to be bound by the same sense of morality as the average mortal. They made their own morality. Something about this appealed to Narshesh. So, he started spreading the word around to the scholars and pyromancers of Amon Qor. Most listened politely and then went about their business, but enough were that small groups started to form. What began as simple discussions of historical pyromancy turned into groups studying pyromancy itself. Knoweldge was exchanged, but there was also a good amount of wish fulfillment in it, as pyromancers in the modern empire were certainly NOT considered above the law or morality. But wouldn't it be nice if they were, the groups agreed, studying their arts and dreaming of a world where they were free to do what they wanted.


Subtly Creating a cult in Amon Qor: 4dF+1 1

Succeeding in subtly creating a cult in Amon Qor

The Society for the Study of Abyssidian History, a Cult
Origin: Abyssidian Scholars and Pyromancers
Aspects:

Leery +3
Uncanny +2
Subtle +1

Tricky Dick Nixon
Jul 26, 2010

by Nyc_Tattoo

Outside of any particular reaction, this is in response to the communication of both Archie and Mar'arr'nenkeshet, as they both get responses, and not just from player Horrors... But as to what these responses are, it's impossible to say at first. Except you can try to communicate specifically with any of these as a Horror action (that will generate a mystery in a hex of my choice on a tie or failure, though otherwise isn't tied to any particular hex) to Overcome a variable Difficulty. I've put the difficulty for contacting each entity in the entries below, Each is also marked with a number, so mention which entity you are communicating with by its number.

The letters sent by the Sire of the Eternal Cult to every corner of this part of the Firmament had reached corners dark and unknown, and his bait had only gotten a few bites from some very interesting parties, but the ones that responded were not the only to have received such an eldritch post-it note. A few gave a response. There were other things, that were suddenly called awake by the great psychic presence of the invading planet to the dark minds of the world. A great mystic cacophony rose from the world, twisting dreams and minds as there was a great sounding of the demons and horrors, the extant powers of the world that still remained after the gods had abandoned it.

You are not alone, Horrors. In addition to your own responses, thirteen more come out of the deep. Everyone feels these, even if they were not open to the communications before. They are also vaguely aware of Mar'arr and the Arch-Traitor, and will react accordingly. Some are Dormant. Most are Imprisoned. But perhaps now, a few are Stirring.

(1) A symphony of screams is the first to loudly and brashly advertise itself, beckoning any to challenge its regency, and it echoes a thousand times over in the same breath, while also the breath of thousands more, expended upon the words "Come and find me, BROTHER." This power is from the deep south in the black or red deserts. Difficulty +1.
Archie: You receive a letter back that is just covered in insane scrawl, as if a hundred hands working at odds tried to write a response, and you cannot discern, even with your eldritch powers of symbology, anything of interest from it.

(2) A tittering of laughter like breaking glass answers the cry out mockingly, echoing off the halls and chambers of an endless mansion and through the voices of dancing faces and fluttering wings. A door yawns open, and there is the distant sound of marching. The power is nowhere to be felt, and yet everywhere, somewhere completely far from here, and right next by. Difficulty +5.
Archie: Your letter is returned exactly as it was, folded neatly into a butterfly, which then in your hands flutters away, after cutting your finger with a smarting papercut.

(3) The thousand eyes turn upon you, stripping from you every layer and laying you bare to be seen upon the world, as the sky itself open with an abyssal maw that leads into nothingness, and a thousand eyes, each independent and terrible, searching something hidden from them, and carving through light and stone to do so. This power is felt within the earth in the north. Difficulty +7.

(4) Every footstep upon the earth threatens to awake her, as each one causes a strand to shudder with a quaking vibration millions of miles through the chthonic earth, to where the eggs of malice lay, waiting to rehatch when the poison that curdles within is ripened. This power is felt within the earth in the south. Difficulty +5.

(5) There is a long and low hum, as if something is charging back up from a long time dormant, and a sorrowful sound, like perhaps singing, that is cut short abruptly and immediately, as if a thread is snapped, or a feed cut. This power is felt to the south. Difficulty +3.

(6) All rage and smoke and fire and hatred, curdling like a hissing serpent and screaming inchoate and with... pain? This power is felt in Abyssidia, beneath the earth. Difficulty +5.

(7) The cracking of earth, and hissing choir raising above the silence, and then shuddering back, as if cackling at something unsaid, followed by the sound of stones striking the ground... and skittering away, which stones do not do. This power is felt beneath the earth to the west. Difficulty +3.
Archie: You receive a flat stone returned in a language mortals would never understand but you can discern from your eldritch prowess. It says, "hi."

(8) Churning water and spinning tentacles, and a gaping mouth that wishes, nay, demands to be fed, grasping and trying to pull itself eternal from its prison, deep beneath the frothing and cresting waves. This power is felt beneath the sea to the west. Difficulty +5.

(9) A howling pandaemonium of winds that can, and have, stripped flesh from bone, met with the clattering of chains and the distinct sound of lips cracking bloodily with a smile, and low, hungry hiss that curdles the blood. This power is felt to the north. Difficulty +3.
Archie: You receive not a letter but a half frozen body of a mortal with a "letter" written upon the flayed flesh of his back, asking you to come find "myself and my court" in the far north past the Point of No Return, where the two of you will "make a deal."

(10) There is a slow pounding against stone, a low breathing in and out of a slumbering beast before it stirs for a moment, waking just enough to let out a terrifying roar, and then a whine and a return back to its slumber. This power is felt to the east, beneath the earth. Difficulty +5.

(11) Underneath the Demon Ocean is a mantle of stars not unlike what one might find the sky above, but twisted, like any warped reflection by the ripples, shining with a malevolent life that seeks to take the power of the image and reflect it back, and drown the world with its own beauty. Difficulty +3.
Archie: You receive not a letter, but mirror of water in a disk that is shaped of its own accord, that reflects a constellation that you intuitively understand to mean, "RELEASE ME AND YOU WILL BE REWARDED."

(12) You hear something like the unearthly sound of crystals humming, aligned like a glass armonium, but that beautiful sound is shattered with a thunderous breaking against the sides of ice, cracking and heaving from the pressure. A great force thrashing violently, seething with burning hatred for the world and anything that lives in it. Difficulty +7.

(13) There is nothing at the center of the earth. A conspicuous nothing, a hateful nothing, a violent nothing, a nothing that consumes, a nothing that screams, a nothing that hates. The nothing whispers to you, "embrace me." Difficulty +9.

Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 06:20 on Apr 4, 2016

Tricky Dick Nixon
Jul 26, 2010

by Nyc_Tattoo


In the depths of the great city of the aboleth...

Your newfound thralls work diligently, gifted powers of the mind in diabolical excess of what their primitive minds would normally be capable of, quickly gathering much of the latent psionic residue left behind by centuries of experimentation in the ages many epochs before, as well as stripping from the eidolons and mental shards left behind by the detritus of the graveyard-like sea floor. They obey your word to the letter, but are not subtle, seeking to awaken the ileth from their deep torpor by pooling the power in cenotes, great braziers that are actual vessels of psionic power, with which the Sunken Ones would light their city so that, unlike the aboleth who preferred the deep blackness, their slaves and enemies could gaze upon their glory, and perhaps had other uses other. However, their use of psionics is still raw and untapped, and great powerful gouts of psionic soul-flame emit light that is unearthly and unlike any physical light, a shade of color that literally can only exist in the mind. The light spills from the cavern mouths in bright flashes, and the light of the city renders it not like twilight, but actual daylight, sending a beacon for the time being that cannot easily be suppressed for the surrounding peoples.

A Mystery is generated!
    Mystery: Lights in the Abyss (U:36.30)
    As the cenotes, the great underwater lanterns of Hathaatuanth are lit once more by psionic pools of power, presaging the return of the ileth, the mind flayers. Though the races of the world have almost all but forgotten these primordial beings, and almost certainly the ones before them, the baleful light of a shade of blue or green that is completely alien to any other part of reality, but vivid within one's perception and memory once placed, draws the attention of everything living on the shelf, and even sailors sailing above the Starfall Sea, for it is nothing like the lights of the lanternfolk, though the ignorant might mistake it as such....



At the Starfall merrow capital of Tepotzotl...

The tlamacazqui, the givers of things and priests of the merrow, look at the lights from the Abyss with far more horror than the more stupid merrow who would blame the demonic medusae for such. They know full well that such stirring means something divine, and that it occurs underneath the Conjunction above, means that the time has once again come for blood to be fed to the great machines of divinity. The Conjunction had only appeared once before in ages past that the Starfall merrow could remember during their bloody inception. They quickly became uneasy, as they do with all divine signals from the gods, for their gods are terrible and malevolent and needy, and threaten all life with every demand. They supplicated to the temples, dragging drowning and barely beating hearts to be consumed by the sacred beasts so that the god-machines might be fed. Even underwater, the blood seemed to settle along these carved lines on these "machines", curved and marked with geomantic power that drew the powers to the source, obsidian mirrors that pointed to the sky, and either reflected light or showed murky darkness, and every variation thereof as the blood was used to wash the murk and muck that accumulated as film atop the mirrors.

Tlacatzilteotl, the emperor and grandest and bloodiest of the teotl warlords among the Starfall clutches, whose ancestors wrested the great dead coral city that is now, had given the order that the Smoking Mirror was hungry and that is why the stars threatened to consume each other in the sky, the Rainbow Serpent's many heads threatening to consume itself, and should it succeed, its power would be greater and it could dig its claws deeper into the waters when it tread the surface to find the merrow once more, and choke the waters with its unwelcome light. Then he tore out his own heart and fed it to his own daughter, once Acalxotatl and now Acalxoteotl, the so-called Blood Empress, the first female pretender to rule over the merrow. No one questioned the story or the fact the old dead emperor was then further consumed by his daughter, or that there were only seven witnesses to this event that all were part of the cohort of the new Blood Empress long before this call for Anemone War. It would be one of the bloodiest to date, and they made new sanction to capture troglodytes and even tritons if they could isolate them for the purpose of the incoming great sacrifices, as the season became a season for bloody breeding, slaving raids, and ritual wars between the city-states, so that they may once again choose among them the most favored of the gods, and secure the existence of the world for another age.

As my Divine Reaction, the Smoking Mirror devoted Starfall Clutches look to begin once more the sanctioned anemone wars, and Forcefully Create Advantage against Difficulty +0, to start building grand slave armies and train themselves once more for war before they return to their more raid-based culture, preparing to choke the Starfall Sea with blood once more (the corpses they intend to eat.)

Forcefully Create Advantage. Difficulty +0.: 4dF+2 4

Success with style. The aspect Anemone Wars influences the area that the merrow exert control over, and I gain two free invocaitons of it.




Around the edge of the Watery Abyss, in the colder waters of Huaca...

While the Starfall merrow begin their ritualistic sequences of wars of domination to determine who will be properly respected as highest of the teotl princes, the sapateotl of the deep merrow, who abandoned the ways of the Smoking Mirror to worship the Tower of Filfth, reigns eternal from his corpse throne, in the forbidden city within the larger temple-complex of Inchaloc, which overlooks the deep blackness of the Infinite Sea and is perhaps surprisingly quite distant from the Watery Abyss traditionally associated with their goddess. For them, the Abyss is a sacred place and to be visited with reverence, and like the corsairs reject the anemone wars, though also like the corsairs have not had the qualities of ritual sacrifice and combat bred out of them just yet. Adapted to colder climates and far less quick-blooded than their fellows, they have begun to practice necromancy, which is what is thought to sustain the would-be eternal rule of the sapateotl.

Xoxotli, the Voice of the Sapa, has declared that the deep merrow must return to Huaca, their largest city, to prepare for the coming anemone wars. They have their part as well, acting as psychopomps that bring those die before being captured to be fed to the god-machines, and depositing them in sacred places, such as the canyon of corpses. They will also strip the flesh of the bodies themselves, if the Starfall merrow don't beat them first as they lurk around the battles like jackals or vultures to packs of lions, but much like jackals as a group they can overwhelm the unwary Starfall warrior who leaves the larger group to claim his pound of flesh. Just one more body to be added.

The disappearance of the seekers that were sent to collect sacred artifacts from the bottom of the Watery Abyss is of concern, especially since whatever they find would be of much interest in this holiest of times. The deep merrow have decided to send another seeker, and if the deep merrow has been taken into slavery by the Starfall clutches, prepare to release him, as such is unacceptable in the eyes of the sapateotl, who shall have none of his eternally protected children held by their lesser cousins. In a twist of irony, they use a Starfall captive that knows the waters well and can easily masquerade around the warmer-blooded cousins, named Capalxoche, swift and silent in the waters. Promised freedom from the supposed magic spell placed upon her by a necromancer, she takes to the task with the whole of her mind.

As my Faction Reaction, the Deep Clutches recruit a new agent, and Forcefully Create Advantage against Difficulty +0, to investigate the disappearance of the Abyssal seekers now in the clutches of the aboleth.

Forcefully Recruiting an Agent. Difficulty +0.: 4dF+2 1

Success. The Deep Clutches grant their new agent two approaches.

Capalxoche, a Seeker
Origin: Desperate Captive
A Merrow beast.
+2 Sneaky, +1 Quick




Westward, in the Watery Abyss itself, over the ruin of Chatephlath...

Floating in a great school listlessly over the primordial ruin, the lanternfolk do whatever it is that lanternfolk do, pulsating with light and creating arcs of electricity within them, seemingly unconcerned with the world around them until great lights appear on the horizon. Only one remains, a great Siphon with a hardened hood with coral and barnaces and great spikes, that hides a soft underbelly of squirming, crackling orbs of energy and light. Without any of the lesser medusae to call upon, it extracts one of these orbs, apparently painfully, and scharges the magnetism between the two such that it shoots off like a bullet, and even the great colony-beign recoils from the force, and then it settles, its light a bit dim as its distaff counterpart propels into the darkness, waiting for it to complete whatever alien purpose the medusae have here.

As my Force Reaction, the Siphon attempts to create a new agent, and Weirdly Creates Advantage against Difficulty +1, for a whole purpose alien and unknown.

Weirdly Recruiting an Agent. Difficulty +1.: 4dF+2 0

Failure. Going to spend my first point of Prophecy to invoke the Siphon’s Origin aspect of Colony-Being for a +2 bonus to have it create an agent out of a part of itself as a Success.

A Distaff of the Siphon
Origin: Distaff Being
A Medusa alien.
+2 Weird, +1 Quick




Your minions bring you the following truths about the world…


Merrow, also called fishfolk, are the most populous of the beast races and an always Neutral aquatic People. The merrow are cold-blooded beastmen like the lizardfolk and share some kinship with them, especially the common Starfall merrow, but are far more piscine in nature, mixing various traits from various sorts of fish as appropriate for their different tribes, but always with powerful tails, sharp skin, and powerful jaws. Most intriguely, the corsair merrow of the Arid Sea look disturbingly mortal and have lose the tails of other merrow, and can walk in land, while merrow have strong sexual dimorphism, with females also taking on hauntingly mortal characteristics, and in general being very rare and prized among their people. Like the lizardfolk, they are strongly diurnal and adapted for warmth, save the deep merrow which has slightly molluscoid characteristics to adapt. They are very instinctual, but have a much more developed culture and civilization than their land-dwelling cousins but coming from the same instincts. Inhabiting cities choked with kelp more often than not, they have developed their own form of geomancy, perhaps stolen from the tritons, developed around the use of blood and creating devices whose name translates roughly into "god-machines." Their gods are strange, primordial, and hungry, and always needing sacrifice, and the merrow believe very deeply that they must be appeased as a matter of life or death, and approach religion with no emotion at all. They murder hundreds, even thousands in ritualistic sacrifice and combat with cold-blooded precision and detachment, and those who are captured and defeated go into their fates completely without fear, which is very disturbing to the troglodytes and other beastfolk they have interacted with. The merrow could be capable of great things, but their civilization is based around constant internecine warfare and culling of their population, though they breed even more rapidly than other races. Despite the rarity of females, a during a single breeding season, which usually is analogous to the anemone wars that choke the waters with blood, a single female can lay up to three hundred eggs, of which one hundred merrow will likely survive into adolescence, as they are far more likely to protect their children than the lizardfolk, but more by fact that they have actual cities than any real child-rearing instinct.

Merrow are found in the waters of the Starfall Sea, as well as the Arid Sea and the Infinite Ocean. The deep merrow subrace is adapted for colder climates, but most keep to warmer waters, and are constantly pushing outward and looking for most places to settle. They are completely aquatic and cannot survive long on land, though their tails are surprisingly effective for coiling and leaping out with bursts of speed, and they can survive about an hour fighting on ships, which they often do looking for human victims. Corsair merrow can survive even longer, up to a day, but are not truly amphibious, and have to keep themselves constantly wet or they'll dry out and die, which is not the best of weaknesses to have in their climate. Merrow priests practice geomancy, while others practice primitive necromancy, divination, and pyromancy depending on their patron deity. Their unique use of pyromancy underwater to boil the water and create jets and currents of steam shows that they are far more capable than others give them credit for. In battle they favor tooth and claw, and use stolen tridents as well as their feared clawed nets whicha re like missile weapons, and if you are caught in a merrow's net underwater, it's almost certainly game over. Like other beast races, the taste of blood drives merrow into a berserker state. Their eyes turn completely black as they roll to the back of their heads, glassy like a doll's eyes, and their lips curl fiercely over their teeth in a constant grimace. Their blood quickens and runs hot, causing them to move quite a bit faster as they murder their prey.

The merrow grant the racial Gift of Anemone Wars, which grants +2 to Forcefully Attack when engaged in ritual combat and contests. The merrow believe every movement should have a purpose (that purpose being survival) and their combat is ritualized but not flashy. They also engaged in contests that always end in death or slavery, and have the equivalent of athletic superstars who champion their city or clutch in these contests.

Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 05:50 on Apr 4, 2016

Tricky Dick Nixon
Jul 26, 2010

by Nyc_Tattoo


In the hours before an audience with Aghis’artan, within the ogre capital of Agriyadh…

The learned mullah practiced his recitations, before dipping to his great knees, cloven feet unborn and wearing a simple outfit and turban compared to the finery that was customary here in the capital, for he had come from the southron villages and trained at the great shrine of Aghis there. He praised the sun three times, as it rose from the horizon, and thought of the disturbing news that had reached the capital. Already there were many clamouring sorts that demanded justice, and for some reason, the grand vizier himself, had called the mullah into conference from his attending to the great library here in the oasis city.

It was not too surprising that as his prayers came to a close, a Noddite slave and personal herald stepped forth, his pate shaved as signal of his status, and all but shouted the following words rather empathically. “You, Im’ul ibn Mustaa Sekhonse al-Saba mur-Jiddah, learned mullah and honored scholar of the Red Sun and heavenly King, Aghis the unfathomable, are to be addressed by the great and grand vizier, the most devoted and noted of this divine emperor by his earthly body in Aghis’artan, the man you may know as Abu Ni’riya Ghayry ibn Yadh’wiya Baneshay al-Muscat mur-Agriyadh.”

The resplendent vizier himself followed in, fat of silks and belly, with a great turban and twirled mustache, grinning toothily as he came to greet the mullah with a respectful bow, though not as low as the more kow-towing rube, laughing. “Up, up, al-Saba, I would talk to you as an equal. You are too learned a scholar to not treat with such respect!” It was common to call a visitor to one’s own town by their hometown as such. The fact he called him by this name and not his deed name Sekhonse showed him that the vizier did not consider him an equal nor a peer.

The mullah al-Saba was slightly suspicious of this man. The grand vizier had a very poor reputation as of late, and while the mullah was willing to believe that much of it was from the poor envious hearts of those who could not aspire to such honored and pious hearts. “I have just finished my praises to the Sun, Abu Ni’riya. I pray that he has blessed you with his touch as well…” The vizier seemed to have been in quite a hurry to get here, and if he missed his devotionals, that was an indication that perhaps his reputation had been well earned. The mullah still referred to the vizier deferentially by his honorific name.

The vizier Abu Ni’riya noted the insinuation, and took offense immediately, his face twisting in anger. The ogres often show big and almost pantomime emotion, though it rings a bit hollow in its bellicosity. “How dare you question the most holy of holies, for at my feet you are a peasant and pissant against the glory of the true god.” He spit and then moved toward the same balcony that the devotionals were made of and made a grand motion. “How many arms do you praise the sun with each day, al-Saba?’

The mullah barked. “Two strong arms, Abu Ni’riya, that have done so in the heart of the Great Desert that boils in his light. Every moment I have lived has been in his praise, while your lot have been protected by the shade of your oasis, far from his touch.”

The vizier did not flinch from the castigation, only laughed confidently. “You are foolish to think that sufferance is what the god demands of us, when all that is needed is devotion. And I tell you, mullah of the sands, I do not give my praises to the sun with two arms. I give them with a thousand, as every pair of strong arms of the blood of Aghis here burns under my direction, in the service of Aghis on earth in our artan, hallowed be his reign.” They both made a motion of reverence.

For the mullah’s part, he did not flinch either, but neither did he doubt the vizier’s sincerity here. The sun shines upon all on the earth, and there are many that it can and will call to its service. He nodded his assent. “There is something to glory as well as wisdom,” he quoted, and they both went almost immediately from vaudevillian spitting anger and ready to murder each other, to a sort of beatific smile to each other in understanding.

Meanwhile, the Noddite slave kept his composure, but was internally utterly terrified.

“Now, for why I have called you here, Sekhonse…”

As my Divine Reaction, the Grand Vizier, devotee of Aghis, attempts to create a new agent, and Flashily Creates Advantage against Difficulty +0, to recruit a mullah to act as qadi, a deputy judge.

Flashily Recruiting an Agent. Difficulty +0.: 4dF+2 4

Success with style.

al-Saba, a Qadi
Origin: Desert Mullah
An Aghissi elder. Devoted of Aghis.
+2 Flashy, +2 Clever, +1 Arcane




In the grand palace of Aghis’artan, at the heart of the oasis city…

The entire palace was abuzz with many would-be ghaazi making themselves known and trying to prove themselves or earn the opportunity to strike out and put an end to this slave revolt. Such a thing was treated with huge gravity within the palace, but without there was very little such, as they were sure that even a single ogre could overcome the lot that existed there. It was obvious to the learned this was not the case.

The interior part of the palace was draped in black and red tapestries, with golden trim, and a great dais and throne sat above it all, with a great semicircle of silks and courtiers strutting and all equally competing with their voices, horns, and personalities to be heard. At the top of it all was Aghis’artan, supposed the living embodiment of their sun-god, a great ogre that would at his full height be nearly twelve feet tall, with great horns and a tail that twitched at his lap. He sat cross legged upon cushions on this wide throne, and had two palace guards at each side of the raised dais. At the next step down on the dais was his favored consorts, ogresses beautiful by their standards with full bodies and scanty veils, and each one uniquely large as well like the Aghis’artan, even for their race. Of course he had no wives, for the elder races do not take such.

Below that was the men of station, and of those only the grand vizier stood, the others enjoying their Sarcian grapes and Orissan mangos. The court was decadent, after an age of rule with no real resistance from the Medhari Sect, and having easily overcome the weak remnants of Noddites in the expanding desert. But there was still power in that Aghis’artan, who ruled for more time than most mortal nations have existed.

“The rebellion must be killed in its cradle, like any animal that when fully grown will snap at the hand,” a onerous warrior presented.

“Of course! But the oasis is sacred, and to spill the unclean blood of slaves upon the sacred waters would bring devastation to the empire,” came the answer of a scholar.

“Pah! While you read over and over your prayers to Aghis, they despoil his very sacred grounds with their piss and poo poo like the beasts they are!

“Do not dare speak such before the holy of holies, and our god upon earth!”

“Your words are as the piss and poo poo of slaves, scholar! They are far more offensive to the Red Sun than the truth I spit like hot fire!”

There was a loud crack that resounded through the chamber as skull hit skull, and the scholar and the warrior locked horns, the scholar showing his natural ogrish blood in that moment and keeping pace, as they locked hands and pressed against each other. Eventually the warrior however began to prevail, until they were knocked both aside by the fat but still quite powerful grand vizier, who growled and snarled with his sharp teeth.

“Enough! You bicker like mortals, and state the obvious.” The warrior was not like to be talked to as such, but the vizier simply grabbed the warrior by the thorns, and making use of his momentum charging, threw him up into the air and across the room, crashing into a pillar which seemed the threaten to buckle at the force. The vizier laughed, and the chamber laughed with him.

The laughter was cut short by a single deep voice that caused the floor to quake as if it were the thrashing of a wyrmspasm. Aghis’artan spoke, “Is this the work of the Mule, vizier?”

The entire chamber was deathly quiet, not only because Aghis’artan spoke, but at what he mentioned. Sidelong glances and the gritting of teeth was seen in all corners at the mentioning of the Mule, the name itself causing even the hot-blood of the red ogres to chill with its mention. The vizier was taken aback, and coughed, adjusting his turban and patting on his ample stomach. “Hm, well, no, we have reports of her still in the Qedar Highlands and fighting alongside the minotaurs there, but she has since evaded reports from other expeditionary parties, and the Medhari, wretched tricksters, are likely sheltering that abomination as they did the hellish coupling she was spawned from.”

The warrior picked himself up, laughing at the end of the vizier’s report. “In short, you know little and less than a mortal child might, and are simply stating the obvious.” The vizier was incensed, but now the chamber laughed at him, rather than with him. Aghis’artan did not, he simply nodded and returned to his detached silence. Even among the ogres, true ancients such as he seemed unwordly in such a way. Or perhaps merely bored.

“Such childishness aside,” the vizier presented, “we should call upon the office of qadi once more to institute direct martial law.” He stepped forward and began to gesticulate with his voice. “We must act resolutely to prevent any spread of the revolts that threaten us in Qedar and Baori here in the city, but neither can we sully such a sacred place with blood. So we shall set first to affair at home, and proclaim a holy terror that shall keep those present in line. An order of decimation shall be made, that will teach all who think of rebellion that their entire people face the punishment of the actions of a few. Any collaborators shall be rewarded with the sparing of their families from the decimation.”

“To see this through, and then to quash the rebellion peacefully once we have demonstrated our position, I have called upon a learned man who is not tied to the politics here from the shrine of Aghis, a mullah called al-Saba, for this very role. He shall act with the impartiality of the stranger and the wisdom of a priest, and give glory to the name Aghis’artan with his office.” The vizier presented to the court the scholar in resplendent gold and red, very different from the al-Saba that we saw moments ago in just a simple shift, already touched by the decadence here. He was the very same scholar that locked horns with the warrior

The warrior strode forth, quite angry at this. “What right is it for you to proclaim such in the very sight of Aghis’artan here! He rules the people, you are as a spitshine upon his cloven hoof.” The warrior’s brashness once again impressed, because while many thought little of the grand vizier in his obvious power mongering in the absence of much active governance by Aghis’artan, none would dare cross him in the sight of all of the court like such, as he was not simply a soft man of silks, and perfectly capable as he had just demonstrated of defending his honor.

The vizier was no so easily provoked as well. “This is within the remit of my office in times of great turmoil, though I bow to Aghis’artan’s great wisdom should he contradict it.” He bowed deferentially to the great ogre, who rubbed at his chin, considering the warrior for the first time here with piercing, blazing yellow eyes.

“Step forth warrior, and state to me your name.”

The warrior did not hesitate, moving forward and taking a great knee, impacting against the ground as he did and withdrawing his scimitar. The palace guards tensed but Aghis’artan simply raised his black clawed hand, and they noted that the warrior was holding the hilt of his blade forward and up, an obvious sign of homage. “This one is a sword, and that sword is named Zaaqas ibn Ir'azz Aamenun al-Khagrai mur-Pashvalun.”

Aghis’artan simply nodded once, and proclaimed. “Ibn Ir’azz, you are now proclaimed ghaazi. You may rise and keep your blade, as well as your head.” As summary execution is the alternative to being named ghaazi if you draw your steel in the presence of Aghis’artan. Ibn Ir’azz duly stood up, and raised his gaze resolutely.

“I do not countersay the grand vizier. Only state that should this qadi fail his task, then Kismet has decided that blood must be spilled on sacred ground. It is already stained, and as Aghis’artan, I speak for heaven when I say that what will be done, will be done.”

The warrior nodded, the vizier fidgeted, and then Aghis’artan added one more twist to the whole affair. “Should you fail qadi, your head will be felled with my sword.” Not motioning to the scimitar to his side, but rather motioning to the very ghaazi that al-Saba had locked horns with moments before. The two ogres locked eyes, taking the weight of each other, and rather than wilting, al-Saba was filled with fire by the challenge.

“I will not fail you, Aghis’artan,” al-Saba assented.

“You cannot,” Aghis’artan reminded him, pithily.

As my Faction Reaction, the Aghis’artan attempts to create a new agent, and Flashily Creates Advantage against Difficulty +0, choosing a ghaazi to act as his enforcer in anticipation of a slave uprising.

Flashily Recruiting an Agent. Difficulty +0.: 4dF+3 3

Success with style.

Ibn Ir’azz, a Ghaazi
Origin: Sword of Artan
An Aghissi elder. Devoted of Aghis.
+3 Flashy, +3 Forceful, +1 Quick




Within the following weeks, a proclamation grips the people of Agriyadh…

So started the terror in the oasis city. Slaves were rounded up and given strict provisions and declarations at the orders of the qadi who decided to take a very proactive approach to any possibility of slave uprising, as had been done several times before. The weight of history weigh heavier than the chains around the necks around the mostly Noddites but also Ornassi, Pashen, and even Abyssids. They were not shamed or dishonored or even beaten, as the ogres did not think such treatment just, and they believed themselves very just.

While their minotaur guards, considered tamed beasts and too stupid to properly rebel besides, kept the peace, they went to district to district day by day, rounding up all the slaves there and putting them into groups of ten. Then, they began the process of decimation. They gave all the slaves small knives, the same kind that would be used as tools, not proper weapons but dangerous all the same. They then told the groups that they must choose which of the ten among them is to die, unless they can name a possible subversive, in which case they and their family was removed from the pool, but they still had to kill someone.

To the last, every group killed them. Some cast lots in the Noddite tradition, some fought tooth and nail, others simply stood there dumbly until the laughing ogres played “eeny meeny miny mo” and chose which one was to be killed. The ogres did not have to kill a single slave. They killed themselves just fine. It was a testament to the absolute arrogance of the ogres, and the deeply ingrained psychology of an age of slavery had on these mortals, that they could give the means of rebellion to these slaves, and have them punish themselves.

Things may be on the precipice of darkness, but the world so far refused to change.

As my Force Reaction, the Qadi al-Saba will Flashily Create Advantage against Difficulty +1, to actively suppress any possible thoughts of rebellion before they start in the capital city and they move to the source of the trouble to pull it from the root, making sure they are not outflanked.

Flashily Create Advantage. Difficulty +2.: 4dF+2 4

Success. The aspect Slave Terror influences the area that the Aghissi exert control over, and I gain one free invocation of it.

Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 08:04 on Apr 4, 2016

paradoxGentleman
Dec 10, 2013

wheres the jester, I could do with some pointless nonsense right about now


Zarkai
Last and Greatest Tyrant, Champion of Praxis, Eater of Monkeys

In an immense Ziggurat, hidden away somewhere in the Praxian jungles, an immense form stirs in its sleep. His dreams are better than they used to be; his visions are filled with warm visions of the jungle, and anticipation for its upcoming return. He can feel the immense slashes on his skin closing, his body slowly ejecting arrows and spears with wet sounds followed by the satsifying clink of the weapons hitting the stone ground. Not long now until he won't have to settle for airy visions of his past dominion, as soon as the rest of the Compsos are reunited with the ones already in the Ziggurat.

Buy now he feels something else: a presence, within his very Ziggurat. An intruder? His tongue darts out of his mouth. No, there is no taste of any mammal that could have found him within miles. But then what? He stirs again, his immense tail describing an arc as he ponders. He hears a Compso picking up something, scratching her head and briskly making her way to his resting place. She places the object, which must be what he just perceived. His eye opens an inch. It looks like some sort of flattened leaf, inscribed with words in some language. He can feel that the intent is for this to be a greeting of some sort. Must be a new custom of some sort in this world. Still, whoever managed to get this message in here must be mighty indeed, in a cunning, supernatural sort of way, and the Champion respects might.

This one deserves an answer.

A low growl is heard in the Ziggurat, resounding throughout its halls and rooms and causing the Compsos to lower their head in fear. The meaning the Tyrant injects into it pushes its way throughout creation, expanded and magnified by the ancient palace itself. It travels at frequencies that cannot be heard by humans, but to its recipient it is perfectly clear.

quote:

We greet you, stranger-stalker. Who are you, that speak to us with leaves and place them into our house without us tasting you?

Satisfied, the Tyrant settles down, ready to focus on resting once again. But just as he starts to get comfortable, he hears another greeting, this one spoken, and much more primal than the first. His hisses in a way that could be considered a chuckle, glad to hear someone with as direct an attitude as his. His answer reverberates once again throughout his Realm. The Compsos are extremely unhappy.

quote:

We greet you, beast-shouter. Who are you, that we can hear through great distance and whose hunger we taste still?

There. Now to rest a little and wait an eventual answer.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zarkai can taste the excitement of the Compsos as they make their way back to Etranoxx; they lack the sharp taste of fear on them, which indicates that they have succeeded in their mission. Good. There aren't that many of them now, it would be a shame to devour a couple of them to drive into their tiny heads the consequence of failure.

But then he... hears? No, he's not exacly hearing. This is a message sent directly into his skull! An aboleth! A fellow primordial, like him still alive throughout these millenia. He raises his head and although he emits a small roar, all things considered, his enthusiasm is still heard by all creatures in the jungle, causing a nearby flock of parrots to take flight.

quote:

We greet you as well, Auluudh fish-psychic! We have slept as well, and do not know what happens beyond our domain. Some hatchling race of lizard-monkeys dares to take in my old home, but they will be taken care of right now. Are there monkey of some kind in your home as well?

I forgot to mention that my earlier action was the Horror action, I edited that post now. Since I have not Cults or Agents, the rest of this turn is mostly going to be chatting up the other horrors.

paradoxGentleman fucked around with this message at 12:46 on Apr 4, 2016

Yami Fenrir
Jan 25, 2015

Is it I that is insane... or the rest of the world?

The Lurker Beneath, the Third King of the Cold Dark, the Great Old, He who takes minds freely, the Star-Seeker

Free Invoke: Psionic Pool (Heralds of the Deepest Kingdom)
Boost: Famous Explorers (Heralds of the Deepest Kingdom)



Lizard-monkeys? I don't quite understand what he means. But, oh well. Everyone has their own words for things.

Reply to Zarkai posted:

Yes, actually. You remember the days the monkeys came to the surface? They actually belonged to us, but kind of got lost. You know how it is, you got so many servants and you don't really count them, so some go missing every now and then. Anyway, the monkeys I have with me right now are quite different. They have evolved, styling their mental prowess after us, and have become more fearsome than they ever could have without us. Unfortunately, they did get overwhelmed by all of the other slave races in the meantime, and they ended up sleeping in the same place as I. Speaking of which... you have not, perchance, seen one of my kind at some point? While I slept, they seem to have... disappeared.

But, alas... I'm sure I'll find out where they have gone soon enough. Say, are you a Tyrant, by chance? While us aboleths have not gone to the surface, the terror your kind has brought upon lesser beings has reached even us via the minds of others. Your conquests must have reached as far and wide as ours! I have to say, it is quite... refreshing, speaking to an equal.

Yami Fenrir fucked around with this message at 14:28 on Apr 7, 2016

paradoxGentleman
Dec 10, 2013

wheres the jester, I could do with some pointless nonsense right about now


Zarkai
Last and Greatest Tyrant, Champion of Praxis, Eater of Monkeys


quote:

It is! It is! We are the Last and Greatest Tyrant, we thought you already knew. We have heard stories of fish-psychics as well. You had many slaves, symbol of power and prestige! But we have not seen any of yours since we have awakened. We do not know where they might be.

Other Tyrants have disappeared as well, but we think they are all dead, lost in monkey revolt. Otherwise our home would not be invaded by lizard-monkeys.

Remembering his humiliating defeat causes Zarkai to thrash about for a second and hiss in frustation. But as he does so, he imagines that the aboleth must also feel that way. So he adds:

quote:

We hope it is not so for your kin.

Shogeton
Apr 26, 2007

"Little by little the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him"


Maen
Mother of Madness, Patroness of Artists, Queen of Love, the Moon's Prisoner.


On her throne, Maen sits, her mind nearly entirely enraptured by the endless increasingly mad delusions But it was nearly. That shattered mirror a hole in the dyke, through which madness and inspiration could flow out. Sometimes, she could hear the prayers of those who followed hers. But it was hard to keep them and the delusions apart. But sometimes there were other things that slid in. Those mirrors were made to keep Maen away from all the things in the mortal world. But there were many things beyond mortal that now sounded, and while the mirrors muted them, it could not silence them completely.

The first was not even a word. A little paper that danced on the winds that danced around the moon, fluttering around merrily until it briefly appeared between Maen and her mirror-locked gaze. Immediately, the paper was decorated with a breathtaking piece of art of Maen herself, sitting on a throne as a Goddess-Queen, benevolent and powerful, yet along the edges where her arms, reaching out pleadingly as if asking for help.

Second, there was a large shout, loud enough to be heard above the maddening music that always played there. Her eyes not looking up from her mirror, Maen's mind reached out as well, her voice singing in ways that would go straight to the mind. A mortal might go mad upon hearing it, but it was not a mortal that could hear it. Only Mar'arr'nenkeshet might.

quote:

"I did not dream you, I am sure. I don't remember you. Are you a new child of Nogad? Is Heru derelict in her duties?"

She heard some other commotion from below. The few parts of her mind not transfixed on the endless sequence of unearthly colours being shown right now, along with the weeping and laughing faces behind them reached out, and there was a soft musical tingling and the sweetest, if mad voice ringing in the minds of others.

quote:

"Who goes there on that world? Does it still remember their Queen-Goddess? Are humanity's songs still so beaitiful?"

Yami Fenrir
Jan 25, 2015

Is it I that is insane... or the rest of the world?

The Lurker Beneath, the Third King of the Cold Dark, the Great Old, He who takes minds freely, the Star-Seeker

Free Invoke: Psionic Pool (Heralds of the Deepest Kingdom)
Boost: Famous Explorers (Heralds of the Deepest Kingdom)



Reply to Zarkai posted:

Ah, my condolences. However, it seems we are in a similar situation. But, anyway, I suppose I should tell you more about our abode. From what little I know about it's current situation, the merrow, strange fish-monkeys, are the dominant force at the time being. I plan to stop that, of course. I have already set plans in motion. There are also the Medusae, the strangest beings I have seen, and I have seen much. They appear like round slimes, but with tentacles, and they are bright. Very much so. It is irritating.

But, I am drifting off. I recently found out that the fish-monkeys appear to hold our abode as their equivalent to hell, and a place of reverence both, depending on the variety of fish-monkey. I find that very amusing indeed. Even without our physical presence, most do not dare enter it. ... I just wish they did not show their reverential sacrifices by throwing their corpses into our cities. Oh well, I'll just have them clean it up once I have reclaimed them.

Yami Fenrir fucked around with this message at 14:28 on Apr 7, 2016

paradoxGentleman
Dec 10, 2013

wheres the jester, I could do with some pointless nonsense right about now


Zarkai
Last and Greatest Tyrant, Champion of Praxis, Eater of Monkeys

The Tyrant mulled over the information his fellow primordial had revealed. Monkeys in the sea! What a weird world this had become. Should something be done about them? But it would not be easy to track them deep into their watery lairs. Well, the aboleth seemed to have them under control, and he supposed that if they didn't bother him and there was plenty of prey on land, that would not be necessary.

quote:

These lizard-monkeys, they are not related to ape-monkeys. They have not rebelled, they may be spared yet if they learn their place. They are struggling against the jungle, they are weak and undisciplined. Barely bigger than Compsos. They have captured their chief-warrior, they are-

Zarkai interrupts himself. He tastes a commotion nearby the Ziggurat. It seems his servant have returned.

quote:

They come! They have their chief-warrior! We must leave, we must attend to the chief-warrior. We will speak to you again in the coming days.

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Yami Fenrir
Jan 25, 2015

Is it I that is insane... or the rest of the world?

The Lurker Beneath, the Third King of the Cold Dark, the Great Old, He who takes minds freely, the Star-Seeker

Free Invoke: Psionic Pool (Heralds of the Deepest Kingdom)
Boost: Famous Explorers (Heralds of the Deepest Kingdom)



Reply to Zarkai posted:

But of course. Farewell until then, friend. Take care.

Yami Fenrir fucked around with this message at 14:29 on Apr 7, 2016

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